With every week that passes by, life seems more like a blurred dream than an actual reality. All it does is rain constantly, with thunder storms mixed in. I feel as though I am not even having a real summer. The climate doesn’t help with my depression; which I may add, comes and goes.

Last night a dear friend lost his godson to a drug overdose; he was only 25. Tragedies such as these should make me put my own life into perspective…but in all honesty, when I think about the future, my entire spirit begins to rip apart and an intense feeling of dread overcomes my being. I don’t want to think about the future. I’m not even sure that I have a future. There are five days left until my HIV test, and when I am going through episodes such as these, I really do wish that it would come out positive. That way I could stay home and just slowly die.
I truly lament the fact that when tragedies happen to others, I can’t take them and utilize them to be thankful for what I have. It’s not that I’m not thankful; it’s just that I don’t know how to be thankful. My problem is that I want more than what I have. It’s not about being popular and rich anymore. All I really want is a boyfriend, a small and cute place to live in, and a decent job. Unfortunately for me, none of these things are going to happen here. But where would they happen, anyway? I have always had this notion that I am going to remain alone forever. And now, I have this notion that I am going to be stuck living at home for the rest of my life. I only went to college because I was told that it would guarantee me a job. And now, all I have is a useless Psychology major. There were many signs that college wasn’t for me; I changed majors more than 6 times, I thought about dropping out twice, and the only reason that I went with Psychology is because it seemed interesting. It was never a passion. Why should I lie to myself now? What use would it make? And now, it’s too late to turn back time; it’s impossible. I would like to slowly vanish into thin air and be carried away by the wind into the clouds.
So what am I supposed to do for a living? I keep saying that I have this entire year to figure it out. I tell myself that it’s best to wait and see what happens until 2014. I still wait to find out if my family is moving to Miami. I still wait to find out what he is doing after this year ends. Where is he going to end up?
It’s no use…I can’t sit here every single day and blame society for all these disasters. Yes, the majority of people suck and yes, society itself is a poisonous blob of corruption. Still, I can’t waste away being angry. I have to move on…somehow, I just don’t know how. I feel as though I am living in a bad fairy tale…except that it wouldn’t even be a fairy tale. It is slowly becoming into a numb existence. I don’t even remember what happened an hour ago. I am living solely in the moment, by the moment. This scares me…this self defense mechanism is something that now comes naturally. My mind has trained itself so that I can be phenomenally conscious at all times. Is this really how I want to live my life? Have things become so painful that I cannot bear to even remember anything? I know that I am still young; and I know that nothing lasts forever. The Buddha says that “A jug fills drop by drop,” and perhaps these cruel months of dullness and extreme uncertainty are just tiny drops that are filling the jug that is my life. My problem is that I want immediate results; immediate gratification and satisfaction. But then again, that is everyone’s problem.
My life has been dull many times before…and yet, I have held on and continued forward. Why can’t I do it now? Is it because I am now into the adult world? Is it because I am a “grown up” and have truly realized how difficult everything really is? All I ever wanted was to be happy. I have dropped so many expectations and aspirations because I know that, realistically, they will not be achieved. I know that there are many in my situation, but why should that mean that I am to accept it and lay down and die? I do not want to accept it. This is why I live in this fantasy land, where nothing seems to matter and where I refuse to believe how difficult things really are. I can’t even smoke weed anymore because it makes me depressed in the long run…and it makes me demotivated. I tend to think existential thoughts while I’m high, and it just makes matters worse. I tend to ask myself: “Is this really my life? Is this really happening? What is the solution to all of this? Is there even a solution?” I descend into a thought pattern that just leads to sadness. This is not what drugs ought to be about. I am not promoting drug use; however, I know why people use and abuse drugs. This harsh reality may still be here at the end of the day. It may coldly greet us once we come off our high, or it may make us feel dreadful in the mornings, but the fact of the matter is that, unless you are clinically brain dead, this reality is here to stay.
I feel as though everyone around me is realizing their dreams. I feel as though people who don’t deserve these things are obtaining them. Who am I to even make that statement? I am no one to decide if people deserve to be happy or not. Yet I still do. People tell me how beautiful I am, and how amazing my personality is, and how likable I am…and this just leads to me think to myself: “Someone like me can’t fail. Someone like me has to succeed.” But I don’t see myself succeeding. There are times when I repeat that “Well, suicide is always an option.” Whenever something is going wrong, or I am having an awful day, it always leads me into this dark tunnel of suicidal thoughts. The problem is that I am not strong enough to take my own life, and somehow, that makes me angry. If I was, I would have done so in 2008. Yet someone like me shouldn’t commit suicide. At times, I think how much I have beaten the odds to get to where I am. I think about my looks, my intelligence, my personality, my sense of style, and the family that I have. Millions around the world would kill to have the life that I am. This is not to say that my life is perfect, or that I am perfect, or that everything is perfect. Far from it. It’s just that I truly recognize that my life is something that many would love to have. Yet, here I sit, writing about killing myself. Phenomenal, how that works. I bet that there are people who are homeless without families that are happier than me. Or, should I say, happy, because I am not happy. I have no idea what happiness feels like, at least true happiness. How pathetic, yet sad. I have so much to be thankful for, so many things to be happy for…but I think my brain is just broken.

I can’t think anymore.