Sorry if this isn't the right place to post this, but I wasn't quite sure where it fit. There's probably some triggering stuff in this, too, just to warn everyone. First, some background information, if anyone wants the context. I’m a 19-year-old college student. I started taking medication and seeing various therapists for anxiety and depression about five years ago. I wish the pills were as effective as people seem to believe they are, but they usually work well enough to help me deal with life. I’ve seen five therapists (one didn’t get past the consultation session, though), and I’m now having phone sessions with my hometown psychologist. In addition to depression and general anxiety, I pick my skin (my legs look like they were attacked by rabid insects) and I have social anxiety. I recently realized I was more or less emotionally abused as a child. I say more or less, because my circumstances were not as severe as other cases I’ve read about. Mostly I was ignored—even my mother admits this. My sister, a musician, had many recitals and lessons, and I was dragged along for years without choice. I tried to compete with her, but I couldn’t. Even her problems were more serious than mine were. When I saw I would never be good enough, I gave up. At this moment, I should be studying for three final exams coming up next week, but I can't seem to get started. My grades in general are going steadily downhill. My apartment is a pitiful wreck. I used to do my own laundry and to clean my room (and sometimes the house) when I lived with my parents, so the relatively new situation doesn’t quite explain my current inadequacy for cleanliness. The worst thing is, I now have a cat (my mother encouraged me to get one since no family is nearby and I never have been able to make friends). I love her with all my heart, but I can’t even clean her litter-box regularly. I’m neglecting her. My mother offered to take her in for me, but she does comfort me, and I doubt she’d appreciate being around the two large dogs and the half-feral rescued cat my parents have. Now for the actual issue. My problem is this: I have no desire to live. The only things that keep me here are a death phobia and a sense of guilt for what my parents would suffer. This is what’s kept me going for the last seven years, once I could no longer delude myself into following a religion (Please note that I don't believe other people delude themselves with religion, only that in my case, I never felt anything but emptiness in a church and terror at the thought of eternal damnation, eternal paradise, or reincarnation. Therefore, I was only kidding myself when I tried to feel something that simply wasn't there for me.). I don’t remember exactly when the idea of suicide first entered my mind. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep up. Life feels like walking up a mountain bare-foot while trying to fight off overwhelming fatigue and vicious wild animals, and the path is getting steeper everyday. I feel old and very tired most of the time. I know people say suicide is the most selfish thing a person can do, and I understand why they think that. However, I believe having children is the most selfish thing people can do. I see children get on the bus and I try to smile at them, for I know they will have little of such comfort in their harsh existences. Personally, I resent my parents for bringing me into this world just to give their own lives a façade of meaning. My pain is pointless and pathetic, and I want it to end. When I tell my psychologist this, she says I have something to offer the world, that I’m sensitive, articulate, artistic, passionate, etc. Unfortunately, even if I am those things (and I’m not), no one listens to me unless I pay them. My mother watches TV or falls asleep during our phone calls, my teachers mock my opinions or simply ignore my raised hand altogether, and the only comments that make it through the invisible barrier between my peers and myself are the cynical and critical ones. The result of the last case is that I am called negative and pessimistic. Of course, that is what I am. But I’ve decided to keep my mouth shut as tightly here as it was in high school. I’m tired of being left afloat in an ocean of hostility. I’m wasting my parents’ money, accumulating debt, and not getting much more out of college than I could get out of a book, but there isn’t much alternative (social anxiety makes even my current part-time job in a library stressful). I keep considering dropping out, but I also think that might be the end of me. I’m not doing anything with my life, and I realize that I’m the only one to blame for it. I’m wasting money, food, air, space, etc that someone who actually wants life could have. I feel like I’ve been damned from birth; every year becomes harder to get through. I don’t want to cause my family pain—they did their best, after all—but I think I’ll cause them more pain if I keep going on like this. I’ve told my mother repeatedly about my suicidal tendencies, and I know she’s told my father and sister as well, but it’ll still seem sudden to them. People choose to ignore the warning signs. I suppose they're rather frightening. Anyway, I know this post is oozing with self-pity, but I thought I should at least try to reach out a little. I apologize for my lack of clarity and organization; it's hard to think sometimes. Thanks for reading.