I want to want to die. I can’t be happy unless I’m miserable and I wish I could get to the edge of desperation so that I have the courage to die.
I hate myself because I look around and realize my life isn’t that bad. I’ve endured no trauma. But then I remember the emptiness around me, I remember how consumerism rules our lives, how we mindlessly devote ourselves to it. That makes it seem worth it. If I’m not sad I can’t be satisfied. What’s wrong with me