I guess it feels like I should write. I should really pour out everything that I have been thinking because I know I have not done that for a while. I remember how great I thought blogging was going to be for expressing myself and I remember how I fell in love with writing. Then, everything got really bad. The depression was pretty bad and the fallout from it even worse. I lost friends I thought I would have for a long time. I lost interest in my passion, studying, my degree and all forms of learning in the end. I could barely finish what I needed to do. What is worse is that I really began to hate myself more and more each day. Every time I was screwing up and not being the person that everyone expected me to be, the more depressed I became. Until I did not want to exist anymore. I suppose the good thing is that I am still existing. However, I am not really living. I have completely and totally forgotten how to do that. I have forgotten how to enjoy life. I struggle to do more than exist. I live in this world of terrorist attacks and fires and random people messing with your life for no apparent reason. I do not even know what there is to enjoy anymore. Right now, my existence hurts more than I care to admit. My existence really does not seem to mean much. In a world where my parents do not seem to care whether I am dead or alive and I cannot make a single decision about what to do with my life or where to go, it seems silly to still be here. I am here and I am hurting. I am hurting because at least when you are depressed you do not have to feel. So when everyone keeps telling me to fight it, the truth is, I would rather be completely emotionless. It does not exactly seem like there is a lot of good coming my way for me to enjoy. I cannot maintain friendships. The people I care about seem so far away. I cannot date or be honest or vulnerable with someone because I am just too damaged. I wonder if my family will ever give a damn. I wonder if my sister could love and care for someone she calls manipulative. I wish I knew where I belonged or what the right place for me was. I wish all the little things could sort of themselves out or that I would have some kind of support. Thing is, it is just me, in this alone and who knows how I do that. I certainly have no idea. So I guess I will continue to try, I will continue to work it out as I go along and this is my promise to myself to continue to write.