Depression is in charge

Woke up wishing I didn't wake up. This is how my days start. I don't ask for it, I seek different thoughts, I seek gratitude. All I want is to feel better, and also to die because this endless this endless pain wants relief. There is no relief it seems.
Trying medical marijuana, can't tell if it helps. Maybe I have some really rare brain dysfunction. People who laugh, who appear to experience joy are a curiousity to me now. I wonder where my laughter went.
I used to have a sense of humour. Now I have loneliness, self-isolation, despair.
People are kind yet everyone has their limits. I want to feel better. That's it.
No one can help. People say hang in there, or it gets better. Yet it hasn't. It has only gotten worse. No one can tell me I will feel better one day, no one knows and people have their own lives to live. They must , as must I, consider themselves first.
I don't love myself, I am certain of my innate bad-ness. I feel incapable of love. Happiness is an alien notion.
I know I can be kind, it feels authentic yet at the end  -and the beginning as it turns out - of every day I remain convinced of my worthlessness. Dying makes more and more sense, everyday. My concern is how to die without hurting anyone, because people say they love me. I counter with a thought "it doesn't matter" people's assertions of love fall away from me, incur guilt, often resentment. I'm staying alive so you don't have to feel sad. Yet I know their grief will pass and they will move on with their lives because that's what people do. They move on.
It seems I have to believe in myself to make it. And I don't. I never have.

disheartening, mysterious, bewildering

Grieving all the time it seems. Memories, circumstances pop into my head and strike my heart. it's a piercing. Deep, lightning quick, hotter than the sun. Sends me reeling, it must be curious to watch me walk as I bob and weave depression's varied onslaught.

I know it's hard to hear what I say, how desperate and alone I feel. And people, we 're all natural helpers, they want to help and when it seems there's nothing that can be done, a sort of compassion panic sets in. But I just want to talk, no one, it is quite clear now, can help me. I have to choose.I have to find a way through all of this feeling. It's so confusing and startling, so much intense grief. I want to know why, I yearn to know but I'll never know. So it's disheartening, mysterious, bewildering. There is little relief in the shitty sleep I do get.

Curious word bewilderment: a state of being. Wildness? Or my natural state? Same thing I think. Maybe I've been denying who I really am and depression is screaming at me, picking at me, gnawing at me, striking me, to wake up before it's too late. Maybe it's ramping up its' efforts to get my attention because there is a message I'm just not getting. Except I am getting a message, one that tells me most assuredly how bad I am. I am a fundamentally flawed, broken, a second.

I think of cutting, imagine who might be at my funeral, wondering where to place my remains. No hole in the ground, although a cave might work. Spread into a garden I think.

I wish I felt worth something. Wish I felt I deserved this life.