I have come to the end of my journey. That does not mean I have accomplished some great feat, it means I have given up. I have tried for so long to look for some ray of hope to bask in; something, anything, to keep me alive. I gave up that search.
In the six years since my breakdown I have fallen deeper and deeper into this hole called mental illness. The anxiety, the depression, the paranoia, none of it has dissipated. In fact, it has gotten worse. The medicines they give me don’t work; the therapist I see repeats the same pointless bullshit every visit. My family expects me to move on as if nothing were the matter. The doctors just glance over me, no encouragement.
I have no hope for my future and I have finally started accepting that simple, unavoidable fact. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing for me anywhere.
This is not a suicide note or a cry for help. I have every intention of living. I’ll just be living side by side with this unerring nothingness to guide me.