If you rule out what actually seems meaningful… if it seems impossible, or so unlikely that it’s not worth pursuing… and you don’t want to kill yourself, because you’re terrified of death… then what’s left?
I think it’s a kind of stasis. I want to just sleep, endlessly. A peaceful sleep of contented dreams, rather than what I experience currently. To just drift through time, till the end of time.
I suppose maybe it’s the kind of experience you get on some drugs, but without the addiction, come down etc. If I had the technology to be in a near-permanent state of artificially induced peace, that would be ideal.
Unfortunately, that’s not compatible with what I need to do to remain alive. I need to be aware, and mentally cognisant, at least some of the time. I need to accurately perceive reality, to judge and assess. And reality is painful for me. Encountering reality provokes regret, longing, loneliness.
And there are probably ways to cause myself less pain while doing this. But I just don’t have the motivation, for any of it. For anything that requires effort, all my brain sees is “Will this stop the pain? No. Then fuck it.” And I give up, sooner or later. Because everything in me is screaming that it’s not worth it.
This is what depression is for me. The mind perceiving that it’s not worth expending the resources on doing anything. Hibernating, withdrawing back into myself. Trying to conserve resources, for a time when it might be worth the attempt. But that time never comes, because the lack of meaning is too all-encompassing.
So it’s maladaptive. It becomes something I have to struggle against, like an anchor weighing me down. But for me, there’s no escape. It doesn’t lift, no matter what I do. No matter how far outside my comfort zone I throw myself. Because no matter what I do, nothing will ever feel meaningful again. So I just have to live with it.