The physical pain of Depression

I have been dealing with depression for 8 painful years, and have had a self mutilation additction for seven of those eight. I have my ups and downs, but lately I feel like my depression has taken a turn for the worst. I have always felt it mentally and emotionally, but the physical symptoms of depression were always minor. That is… until recently. I couldn’t tell you what triggered my depression this time around. I haven’t the slightest clue. Maybe I’m lonely. Maybe I’m scared. Maybe I feel lost because my youth is very quickly leaving me.

I can’t eat. Every time I even look at food I’m hit with an intense wave of nausea.
I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, and wake up with aches and pains, am terrorized by night terrors and I wake up in a cold sweat.
I can’t go to work. I can’t bring myself to get into my car, let alone out of my bed. I can’t deal with my customers. I can’t deal with my staff.
I can’t draw anymore. Every time I pick up a pencil I am hit with a wave of despair. “Why even try, you know you’re not good enough to even attempt to do that.”
Some days I can hardly move because my joints are so seized. My back, shoulders, hips, ankles, wrists, neck, knees and thighs have been a constant barrage of pain.
I can hardly even come up with the words to speak simply to people.
Worst of all, my mutilation has reached its peak. I have no more unscarred skin left to burn, scratch, or cut. So instead of opening new wounds, I thought I’d write. I’d write away my pain. A paragraph. A short story. A novel. I don’t care what, I will just write until I can’t write anymore.

I know I’m lonely. My friends have all left. Close to graduation from universities across the province. And here I am, working minimum wage at a job that I hate. I feel like a failure. I had so much potential. And now what? I’m writing to strangers about my pain and discomfort, and I’m ranting about how badly I want it to end. Some future I have made for myself.

I honestly feel like I’ve reached my end. I can hardly take the torment. Eight years I’ve been strong. I’ve dealt with the feeling of worthlessness. I thought I had it beat, that I could win this battle. But the battle has so quickly become a war that I am overly tempted to surrender to.

No one knows my sorrows. I wouldn’t bother to tell them. Why waste their time. Why give THEM something to worry about.

None of this probably makes sense. I am at my breaking point that I feel even my brain has suffered. I can’t do basic math anymore. I used to be so good at math.

What am I to do, when after eight years of hell, I have finally lost my will to live?