I have a family that loves me, a fine house over my head and a rather expensive computer before me. I have all the friends I care for and have no desire for a love life. My parents have more money put aside for my future than most, and I have enough ability with computer science to build computers and setup servers and such. Overall I'm quite above average in what I have, especially when you think of the whole world, not just the Western world. But that's all moot. Most people here have some sort of external trauma and/or depression. I have depressiong as well, I'm told by the doctor, but it's more than that. The good thing about external things and depression is that they have pills and counselling for that. Don't get me wrong, I am not discounting either as being easily dismissable in any fasion, but at least with them there is some sort of hope of getting through it. I have none of that. Anyone familiar with a Lovecraft novel might already understand what I'm going to say. Everytime I try to understand what I am - *if* I am - or where I stand, it's answered only by the maddening inability to understand anything. Existentialism that has gone unchecked never ends well. There was a time about two years ago in which I was content to accept that I may very well be a dream, a fantasy. I was content in my hedonistic ideal; I could throw such questions away in the name of laughter and fun. With time, though, my laugter became empty; leaving me wholly unhappy and unfulfilled. It's been six months at least since I would have last called myself anything resembling content. It's been at least six months of me trying to find some sort of answer to my existentialist questions so that I might be able to find reason to live in them. No success. So here I am: devoid of reason to live, devoid of answers, devoid of happines. So why haven't I tried anything yet? Well I did not too long ago. It must have been three weeks worth of -Prescription Drug Name Here-, and I was taking a lot per dose as it was. The information said an overdose should have cause AT LEAST a coma. I woke up the next day in the hospital nearly unharmed by the overdose. After that, I've been scared to try any of the more peaceful, easy methods, knowing their unpredictability, and I'm too scared to try something more drastic and crude. I'm sure the words you're all just waiting to post are generic "it will get better" remarks. Please spare me those. I've had lots of time to try and think about this, and I always end at the conclusion that they may indeed get better. I then say to myself "so what?". If I'm dead, I'll never have to realize I might have been missing out. If I'm dead, I may lose my happiness, but I'll also lose my sadness. A trade I'm willing to make.