I don’t really know what to tell you. Your influence has permeated every state of my being. I have tasted many different flavors of your catalogue. Loneliness, isolation, pain. How could anyone even begin to understand? I walk a road that ends in death. No one connects; let alone has the ability to help. Maybe I should have taken that woman’s advice. Maybe I should have joined that group. How should I gauge my contribution to this pit inside of me? Either way, it’s become my home. I spend my day in pain, ready to say goodbye to Mother Nature and Father Time. I cry to the heavens, but all forms of relief are temporary (at best). My road has always been my own. Nothing will change it now. No amount of superficial adoration, no amount of religious outreach, and no amount of hedonist pleasure. It’s funny, because I’ve always been relatively successful. It’s hard for me to think of one thing that I haven’t achieved, when I put in the work. It’s hard for me to think of one person who hasn’t sung the praises of my potential. Well, not exactly. I never got along with anyone in my school years. Everyone was just too hard to figure out, so I retreated to isolation. And thus, it is the same. Every achievement has been met with the same empty misery. Every sign of progress did nothing to quell the demons inside me. So now it is like I enjoy my suffering. It’s always been there for me. Pain offers a release that the hardest drugs have failed to offer. So where do I go from here? One can only feel so much pain before he is destroyed.
This was just a journal entry I wrote about my depressive states. If you made it here, thank you for your time.