Warning: TRIGGERING! (probably?) Hello there. I will attempt to not lie to you, though I've basically lied to everyone I've met and have had a serious conversation with in my entire life. I type this though 6 bottles of Samuel Adams, most of a bottle of Rum, and the better part of a bottle of Kalua, as some sort of attempt at forced honesty. Really, I'm relying on the red, curly lines of Mozilla Firefox to tell me when I'm not making any (grammatical) sense here, I hope this makes sense. I've felt depressed for most of my life. I don't know exactly why, but I have, as far as I know. My thoughts about life, death, running away from home, and improving my life in some miraculous way are my earliest memories. I thought that I felt better in these past few years. I went to college, made friends, and did things that I filled in my categories of "stuff to improve your life" countless times. But, I guess these things haven't really helped. I even considered making a post on this forum outlining the steps I used to improve my life in an attempt to help other people. Ha. If other people followed my advice I'd be a terrible person. MY life is a fucking joke. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself right now. If past events are any indication I'll wake up tomorrow with some feeling of "who did I piss off last night?", hung over, and depressed. I'm fine for the time being. My 'crisis', I guess, is some life-long brooding piece-of-shit, that I'll have to deal with forever. I guess my point is: respond to this post or not, it's ok, it probably won't make a difference in the long run. It honestly will not affect my decision to end my life. So, I've felt bad for a while, I guess. But lately I've felt a little better. I've made a few friends, picked up a few creative skills, and taken a few creative steps towards bettering my life. At least I thought. But now, my friends don't return my calls, I realize my skills have stagnated to the point of infantile stupidity (seriously, I couldn't play an instrument out of a paper bag), and my life is objectively the same. Shit still sucks. I'm sorry, this is depressing, I'll add a warning above. So, I was talking about myself, but lost my train of thought. First, I wondered what my point was: I am obviously sober enough to type my complicated Linux password, but my bad feeling remain? Anyway, here I am, driven for some stupid reason to post on the internet my most intimate of feelings, (that I've shared with no one), and I don't know why! Perhaps some romantic part of me hopes that some chain of events will stem from this post that lead me to being a normal person. But that's B.S. That will never happen in real life, just my delusions, I guess. How is it that alcohol can dull the tendonitis in my left little finger, but not my fucking thoughts? How unfair is that? I've talked to people, I've felt happy, I've felt awkward and out of place, I've occasionally felt the tiny glimpse-of-hope that I've met someone who I can talk to and share my thoughts with meaningfully. But I guess I'm not right in any of this. 21 years of my life now I've been like me ( a looser) , and I have nothing to show for it. I'm sort of standard human robot with no significant skills to show for it and a lack of meaning on top of that. I just don't fucking know anymore. I struggle to see a point to getting out of bed anymore. Lately I lay in bed for 1-2 hours every morning just thinking and wasting life. The worst part is that I know, I fucking KNOW, that the world would be better off without my stupid and deffective body fucking up the way things are. I don't know why this is so, but it's like I feel gravity in my very bones, I know that I'm right. No amount of drugs or thinking every changes this for me. The worst part is that just as I know that I'm a waste that's fucking up the world, I feel compelled to take another breath. I've went to the bottom of a deep, dark lake (I love that lake, its cold, dark, suffocating hug is one of my fondest memories, I am not being metophorical), and let all of the breath out of my lungs (literally), and just prayed (I believe in no god) that I don't have the strength to make it to the surface. Amidst the smiles of countless happy people I've taken reasonable measures to end my life and not make anyone feel like they were responcible, but I've failed. Time again. Swimming, doing drugs, driving, I've failed. That same stupid urge that drives me to life against my conscience will torments me every second of my breathing life. Honestly, I'm the most sorry that I know my life will amount to nothing. I know that every addition breath I take just adds pain to the few people that I care about. If I died as an infant, by now the people I care about would have moved on: my total life would have amounted to a piece of bronze in some midwest cemetery. But by some virtue of my evil and pointless life I've dragged family and friends into my stupid and pointless game. I'm sorry that I didn't have the courage to kill myself when I was 5 years old and realized the problems of my life. I am more sorry than anyone could ever know. Oh god I am so sorry that I didn't kill myself earlier and spare myself and everyone else the trouble. My vision fills with tears because I know just how much of a shitty person I am for not killing myself when I knew it was the right thing to do. I guess the point of this is that I know that the internet is immutable. Maybe when my life comes to a close this post might bring comfort to someone. And I hope that that person doesn't feel sad. I'm just some fuckup somewhere that happened to manage to learn how to write: AND NOTHING MORE. I hope no one ever makes the mistake of attaching some stupid significance to my life: I made that mistake long ago and I'm paying for it with every cursed breath I take. I'm sorry, everyone, for this stupid and pointless life. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry! Please forgive me. If I knew what I could do to change my mistakes I would! Please believe me! I'M SORRY!