Down again

You’re right. Not my job, nor bad friends, not anything should be worth my life. Depression just twists these little things and makes them bigger than you are. Turns everything upside down. And suddenly, I’m willing to die. Not necessarily because I want to die, but because I want to sleep. I want to sleep forever and never have to face the real world again, because the real world is full of all these big things. The pain I cannot forget and feel powerless to change.

Then my life diminishes in importance down to a tiny speck on a canvas of despair. I don’t feel any more. Suddenly, the only emotional aspect of my world view is exhaustion. I no longer empathise with those who love me, nor do I feel any attachment to anyone or anything in my waking dreams of the real world.

I want to die.

From the bottom of the pit, looking up, the world looks different. Everything looks tired. Every concern of the human ants scurrying about their business seems pathetic. Pointless. Work. Consume. Work. Consume.

Hundreds of years from now, our bones will turn to dust. We will only be survived by pieces of plastic from the HD Digital 3D LCD Television we worked so hard to buy, strewn across a layer of the fossil record for future geologists to find.