Depression...

Every decision seems to have been a mistake. Every word seems to be inadequate. Every conscious thought is of self loathing. Every unconscious thoughts cause pain.

I regret every single thing I have done since as long as I can remember. I cannot remember even one of them to have brought any kind of benefit to me or anyone else. On the contrary many have caused irreparable damage to the lives of those it affected.

My every deed is misconstrued. Every move is misinterpreted. The things I do are scrutinized and then criticized. Even the things I don’t do bring me blame.

I am tired of me, and my endless blunders. Cannot fathom a single redeeming quality in myself by the light of which I may face the world. Being praised for something has become a part of the distant past. Failing under a constant trial is what comprises my day now.

My interests appear to be wastes of time and energy. My hobbies are said to be of no use. Even the things I feel make me sick. I am tired of the fact that this world that I cannot comprehend makes me feel this frustrated.

I cannot understand why people do what they do while saying what they say. I count it as more of my drawbacks. Somewhere down the road I never realized that playtime was over. The real world is a dark cesspool of mystery to me. Yet my every move causes a reflection in it which affects me strongly.

I hate myself more for feeling this way. I have no one to confide my feelings to. The ones I had once deemed close have long since moved on to better things and people. Now they have no expectations of me, but I still have of them. I blame myself for not having seen this transformation coming. I blame myself and my naivety for the hurt and betrayal that I feel. A part of growing up is to face these things with vigor. I blame myself for being so tired… I blame myself for still not being a grown up. And for all this…I hate myself.

I hate the life that I lead. I want things to end one way or the other. I cannot ever be a part of the world as I know it. It’s my fault that I am so different from what should be normal to everyone. I hate that fact. At the end of the day… I am sick of being me.