Like, your personality wasn't made to persist? From the age of 12 I can trace self destructive thoughts. They've only recently evolved and matured into suicidal ideation. It took only three years for this suicidal journey to run it's course. Everything was so bright before then, my ambition and future were warm and vast. Now, everything good inspires a bitter pain. All the color of my world has melted into the peripheral, so I can only glimpse it in those few moments when I forget myself, and then pulled back down to this hell. My pain is sharp and unrelenting. Every morning when I open my eyes, I have to relearn the cruelty of my fate. Even my dreams are dull and void, most nights I dream of nothing. Nothing is easier than this world full of senses, raw nerves and wasted futures. My therapist says I'm very nihilistic and have some amalgamation of anxiety disorders and depression. She calls this "mental illness". But, if this is mental illness, then it's a more frightening affliction than I thought, because it is me. It affects me to the roots of who I am. It is untreatable, and I'm on a sure course for destruction. I don't like turning to websites like this, but I'm alone. And, I cringe as I think about how indifferent I would be to someone in my position as if I were you, reading this. But it's a very human thing to reach out even if you're ignored or spurned. I'd be okay with any reaction, really. I guess this my proverbial letter in a bottle. Also, sorry about the flowery nature of all this, also the length. I get down right poetic(if not overwrought) about my fate.