Not quite sure how to begin. I suffer from depression, but find a way to deal with it most of the time. That usually involves escapism...reading, writing, gaming...alot. Unfortunately, my way of coping, has meant that I tend to bury my head in the sand so to speak, whilst life goes on around me. Recently, life took an active interest in me, and forced me to take my head out of the sand. What awaited me left me feeling a little dark of mood...to put it lightly. I wrote this just so I could order my thoughts and emotions...kind of like a house clear out. I hope it doesn't offend. But its basically how I feel right now. How I feel. I think I want to die. I’ve made some bad mistakes, and don’t know what to do. I’m deep in debt, and don’t have a job worth talking about. I’m 30 years old and no better off than I was when I was 19. I’m single, and see no prospects of changing that in the near future. I don’t think I can have kids. I have spent my whole life running away from problems, and myself. I’m so afraid of failure that I don’t even try any more, and I am well aware of the irony there. I have no direction in life, and because of a recent stupid mistake I made, I have severely limited what few options I had. I have no one to talk to; not that wants to understand me. Everyone is so full of “helpful” advice, and I’m “an idiot” for not taking it. Are they calling me an idiot, or am I? Both. It’s easy to give advice, and easy to be convincing when you give it. Mostly because of the “Samaritan” complex that people seem to get when trying to help others. Sorting out someone else’s problems is always easier than dealing with your own. I may be going to prison. I’m in hellish limbo of my own making. I have to be brave for everyone else...in case they get upset that I’m not appearing to cope. I’m not coping. I don’t think I care enough about myself to do anything about this, but at the same time, I’m terrified. It’s pretty safe to say my head is fucked and probably beyond repair. I’m not going to prison. I will kill myself first. I can’t do hundreds of hours of community service. That involves me getting out of bed every day to do work for nothing. I already don’t have a life. I lose out either way. My life is effectively over one way or another. I shouldn’t be in this situation. I’m old enough to have known better than to try and take the easy way out. It works for some people, but nothing about my life has ever been easy. I have dreams, but they are beyond the realms of possibility. I don’t think I have ever had the support of my family. They are always there for me, but only after the fact. “What do you want to do?” they say. I tell them. “Don’t be so stupid” they say. My life is just an existence...nothing I’m proud of or enjoy. I don’t know how to turn things around. I don’t think I would have the energy to, even if I did. I did this to myself. I’m lonely. I have no real friends. Not good ones. Everyone I know has real friends. I see them. Friends since school, through growing up. I have no one. I don’t like pain. Or a knife would be the easiest way. I tried pills once, and that was nasty. Took me two whole days of stomach agony to recover. No one knows. “Get your life sorted out!” I’m so tired of people saying that to me. WHAT FUCKING LIFE?!!! And jobs? Jesus fucking Christ!! Doing what? Shelf stacking, bar working, production-line...it’s all the same. Day in day out, same old shit, earning a wage that doesn’t even attempt to go near the fucking dreams. Work my arse off for nothing, doing things I don’t care about just so an apathetic government can put a value on me as a worthwhile member of a society I don’t even want to know about. Angry! Doesn’t even come fucking close!! I hate my life, this country, and whatever pathetic little insignificant future I have waiting for me. What will it say on my epitaph? “Who?” that’s fucking what! But this is just the way I feel most days. I live in hope that tomorrow may be a better day. A day when I can forget the overwhelming hopelessness of my situation, and for a few brief moments feel that elusive pang of positivity, that gives me the energy to exist for another couple of pointless hours. When I die, I have the feeling that as my life flashes before my eyes, I’m gonna want to kill myself. The ultimate irony is that I’m also fairly positive that even as my last breath leaves my body, I’m going to want to cling onto life, and struggle to exist for another day...and even as I lay there fighting not to die...I’m going to be asking myself if it’s all really worth it! That’s me though, a walking irony. A suicidal survivor. No matter what life throws at me, I’m gonna survive...although I may be secretly wishing I wouldn’t. Why am I writing this? Is it a suicide letter? No. I already established that I’m too scared to do that. So I guess it's just a way of getting things off my chest. Hopefully by reading things back to myself, I will be able to cope for a little while longer. I think I’ll go mad before I die. Even my dreams seem to be mocking me. I don’t have the kind of dreams anymore where I wake up, and for a few brief moments, lay there in blissful ignorance basking in the positive after-emotions of a great dream life...I wake up just before I win the lottery, just before the gorgeous, funny, perfect girl of my dreams kisses me, just before the blissful nothingness of oblivion that the bus would have given me had it hit me. No sadness comes to me with the realisation that it was all just a dream...I’m aware before the good things even happen. I used to be terrified of zombie dreams, but recently, even they are more appealing than real life. Most people wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare...I’m doing that as I fall asleep. Good things only ever happen to me right before something bad happens. They seem only to occur to emphasise the misery that is approaching. I was worried, that because I’m going to prison, I’d find the woman of my dreams, and the perfect job in the interceding weeks. That hasn’t happened. That must mean that I’m going to end up in a worse situation. So on that note, I’m predicting...300 + hours of community service, a hefty fine, a dead-end job on minimum wage, no girl, and debts to the sum of £10000 hanging over my head. Guess prison doesn’t sound that bad after all. How the fuck did I let myself get here? Seriously, if I ever write an autobiography...It will come with a serious health warning to people who may suffer from any kind of depression! I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m in this predicament because I chose not to participate in my life, but regardless, my life chose to participate in me. I am very angry, but I accept that most of the blame lies at my very own feet, and as for the small part of the blame that lays at the feet of others...well, shit happens. That’s it. I’m almost out of things to say. Do I feel better? I’m kind of all hollow and numb right now. Once the general senses of hopelessness and anger fade away, that’s usually what’s left. So...do I feel better? I suppose I do. Can’t really remember the last time I felt happy though. Ah well...makes for an...interesting read. At least to me it does. I usually have these thoughts separately throughout the day. It’s a first to have them all sharing head space at the same time. And now I have taken the time to order my thoughts-ish...I can safely say that from a fresh perspective, I still have no fucking clue as to how to get my life back on track, or even if it’s worth trying. I decided to post this because I can’t help but think there may be people out there who perhaps feel a similar way about certain things. A lot of this was written as I thought of it. It’s a little raw, and the emotions were real as I wrote. Although I resolved nothing by the end of it, I did feel better for organising the negative emotions colouring my everyday life. I may wish for death to come to me every day, but curiosity...morbid or otherwise keeps me living. Oh, and the thing I did that may get me sent to prison? Let’s just say it didn’t involve anyone being hurt either physically or mentally, and no animals were harmed.