You’re worthless. You don’t matter. Your existence means nothing: you may have been something special before, but not now, and never again.
This isn’t me talking.
That’s Depression, talking in His sweetly sinister voice.
That voice has the ability to permeate the nooks and crannies of my mind. It is a noxious gas tainting my memories, even the good ones. I’ve been living with it for so long—more often than not, in eighteen years—that it’s difficult for me to ignore it.
You know how I’ve told everyone that I’ll be studying to become an attorney after college?
Yeah, I’m not so sure about that now.
I’m three semesters away from getting a degree in Behavioral Science. According to the plans I made years ago, after getting a degree, I should go straight to law school, pass the bar exam, become an attorney, and get a job that pays well so I can support my family. But now, I’m having doubts. …
I’ve been feeling like shit, toxic and full of self-loathing. I also look like shit, with circles under my puffy, tired eyes. When commuting, I want to pick fights with strangers for stepping on my foot, bumping against me, staring at me, etc. …