Making huge amounts of effort just to feel utterly alone in the end. Sometimes I wonder why I try.
On paper I've achieved a lot since I lost my parents. Things they'd be proud of. I make a tremendous effort every day to get out of bed, and to not let my personal issues spill out into others lives. I try to be friendly to everyone. I try at work. I try to do what everyone says I should. I go outside. I do activities. I try. I try. But after all that, what do I feel? I feel completely empty. Life has become completely meaningless without them. I descended to hell and others can't even see it. I truly believe I'm in hell.