For me depression is about no longer being able to believe in the positive futures your mind creates. No matter how much effort I put in, regardless of how much time and money I spend, I cannot see a future that feels meaningful, that I can believe in. One that motivates me to get out of bed in the morning, or push through all the discomfort and crap that everyday life throws at you.
I cannot imagine a future where I feel a real connection with another human being. Where I have anyone I can be real with. Anyone I don’t feel afraid around, in case they catch a glimpse of my inner wretchedness. I’ve made that impossible for myself. It doesn’t compute. Any scenario I try to concoct, any path toward it, just rings completely hollow. I have no real hope. I’m just grasping desperately at straws, to avoid acknowledging the truth – that there’s no real point to my continued existence.
And that longing doesn’t go away, even when it’s impossible to fulfil. It just festers and torments you. It becomes a source of pointless suffering.
So either I endure the pain of the pointless existence I’ve created for myself, or I pass that pain on to my family, by undermining the meaning they’ve invested so much of their lives in.
There are no good choices here. If I continue to live, I expose myself to pointless suffering. If I end my life I expose my family to that same level of suffering.
I imagine the status quo will prevail, until I run out of road. I’ll continue to do ever more self-destructive things to attempt to block out the hopeless reality, as the pain grows greater month by month.