I don’t find life to be unbearably painful as much as I find it to be completely mentally exhausting. At least when I actually try. In order to accomplish much of anything I usually have to fight myself a lot. I’m always fighting either social phobia, or fear of change, or severe self-doubt, or hypersensitivity, or self-hatred. It’s like I’m dragging around a sixty-pound rock of depression and fear everywhere I go.
On my bad days, I often wonder how much longer I want to keep fighting myself. Another year? A few years? Ten years? And why should I keep fighting myself? Five or ten years ago I had big dreams and goals, but now I don’t really have any goals. I’ve realized the goals I had were either too unrealistic given my limitations or I never really wanted them in the first place. I still have some friends and a few hobbies, but often they feel like just brief escapes from the endless slog.