Sometimes I think I want to end it all. I think I can’t take it anymore, I’m too angry, it’s too hopeless, everything is doomed, the list goes on. The odd thing about this is nothing can convince me that these things are untrue—no one, not even once, has told me something that makes me think “yes, that was what I needed to hear. Now I want to live instead of dying.” No, what happens is a day or a week or a few hours pass, and I just don’t think about it, don’t think about how miserable or hopeless I feel. It’s not like I’m not sad anymore, it just doesn’t feel that important. The strangest thing about it isn’t even that I’m distracted necessarily—I might be extremely bored—it’s more like that it’s just tiresome to obsess over how upset I am. My fears and worries, at the end of the day, are simply not that interesting, and only feel worth thinking about because I’m feeling them, I’m feeling those fears and that dread. If I wasn’t feeling them, if it was some fictional character that was feeling these feelings, I might be interested for a day or even a week or so. But I would quickly lose interest, far faster than I let go of my worries and fear and anger. Sometimes I wonder if I’m actually feeling sad still, or if it’s just some kind of bad habit. Like, I just keep going through the motions of feeling sad, thinking about the things that upset me, not really because I’m sad, but just because that’s what I’m used to. I used to think a lot that the things that upset me are somehow Universally Important and that Solving my Feelings would Help the World. But at this rate, I’m not even sure I can help myself, at least not the way I’ve been going at it
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2087
