I'm not depressed. If I am, the depression is very, very mild. I get into bad moods and feel bad when bad things happen, but that's not a major problem for me. I don't have any real psychological problem at all — at least not in any sense codified in the DSM-IV. I do, however, have a major deficiency I'm stuck on two philosophical questions. I study philosophy a lot, you see — it's a bit hobby of mine. But the two philosophical questions that most torture me are 1) What's the meaning of life (what's the point of it)? and 2) What should I do? I can't seem to establish a good reason to care, or do anything. I do care, of course. Everyone cares — it's a psychological fact. But desires, worries, and all — those are just facts. They don't provide any reason to do anything, they are just reasons why things get done. But once I realize that fact — that what I want doesn't necessarily mean anything about what I should do — I lose all direction. Sure, my life will have direction in the sense that everything I do will follow an orderly path toward some goal, but that direction will be senseless, meaningless. I become a biological robot, programmed to act in a certain way by a force without any meaningful purpose of its own. That force might be evolution or God or even the Easter Bunny, but none of these forces provide any reason to care about what I'm doing. They just render it a scientific fact that I do care and leave me alone to interpret that. Want is all there is, the only source of motivation that makes sense, but it is, in itself, senseless. There's no point! Consider all of the things we value intrinsically, that we want even if they result in nothing else — like happiness, honor, the welfare of our loved ones. Isn't saying that those things are intrinsically valuable the same as saying that we value them for no reason? The same as saying that our values are hollow, groundless, and essentially pointless? Happiness is great, there's no doubt about it. But it is meaningless. The happy life, all else equal, isn't any more meaningful than the crappy one. Nothing about either suggests that something has happened that matters. As a human being, I care, but as someone observing myself, as an evaluator, I see something much more tragic: I'm putting so much effort and emotional investment into something, even suffering for it... But nothing I'm doing makes sense! There's not one goal I can conjure up that matters! This is why I think of suicide. Not because life is so hard to push through, but because I don't see any reason not to skip to the ending of all this pointless tedium. Caring is exhausting! In the end, I just want some sleep.