I know most of the people here have felt this way from time to time, so hopefully some or all of you can relate. But I'm really struggling to see what the point is of anything anymore. No matter how much psycho-babble we may listen to and want to believe, there is so very little in our lives that we actually control. Most of life is just reactionary. And it sucks. I'm tired of this. I don't know what the point is of my waking up anymore. No matter how hard I try to please people, to make them happy, it's never enough, nothing works. I get treated like such shit, or talked about as if I am this horrible person. And I guess I am. I am a monster. Or I have a monster in me. I try so hard to keep it supressed, but I guess it comes out, and people see it, and see how ugly I am, and then they're done with me. Death seems like the most logical thing to happen now. Because what the fuck else even matters? Why continue? Yeah, sure, there are moments of happiness or joy or contentment, but those moments are so heavily outweighed by the agony and bullshit and misery and pain. So why continue?