I keep thinking I can’t bear it anymore. But I’m scared of the alternatives.

I’m such an asshole. I hate being around people, especially at work. They’re always in the way. And I haven’t worked out a way to ask them to move without feeling angry. I try to be polite, but my face seems to betray me – ‘I hate you for not having the self-consciousness to realise you’re in my way, I hate that I have to ask you to move just so I can do my job, and I hate myself that this is how I’m spending my life.’

Or people try to make small talk. There’s reasons I don’t want to talk about myself. I feel so pathetic and worthless, whenever co-workers ask me how old I am (mid-20s), or what I do in my spare time (surf the internet), or what my plans are. I have no life, no friends, no plans, no hope. I am a non-person.

I never feel like I can get enough sleep, so I’m always tired. My body is in a near constant state of anxiety, leading to stomach problems, which keeps me awake. When I do fall asleep, I tend to have anxiety dreams, and wake up a couple of hours later drenched in sweat.

There are things I want from life, but they’re distant, unrealistic, and mostly transitory in any case. As appealing as fantasies can be, when it comes to the day to day it just doesn’t seem worth it. It’s not enough motivation to keep me going.

And yet the thought of suicide scares me. I’m scared of letting go of the possibilities of life, however remote they are in my case.

So I’m trapped in between. Chances of finding peace, happiness, or fulfillment seem vanishingly small. And my fear, anxiety, anger, tiredness, and physical discomfort block me from enjoying just being alive. So it seems like it would be better for me not to exist. But part of my mind won’t let go of vague unjustified hopes.

I’m left forever circling the drain, without the motivation to secure my survival or improve my condition, but without the resolve to end it.