Life is Strange

Life is strange. When my cat was sick, I was sad and worried about her, but I did not really get lost in myself or my depression. And now that she is better, my mind has rewired itself, easily, to its favorite pattern. I do not know how to live without being depressed, unless there is something to do that will entertain my brain enough to forget me. Does this lead me in the direction of caring more about others than myself? I thought about that, how it would feel, whether I love anyone enough to live my life for them, and erase this self who is of no use to any person, animal, or object. While I am depressed, I see the question as an enemy. I do not want to lose who I am. Yet, who am I when I am lost, without an anchor, without hope, without purpose, meaning, or happiness? I am the bitter foe of everyone. Especially the inhabitor of my body. What shall I do today? Nothing. Nothing feels "right". Nothing is fun. It is all work. Thinking is work, feeling is work, playing is work, going places is work, writing is work, reading is work.... goodbye energy. Let me just sleep and dream and stay there until the world becomes what I need to survive. What is that? I am not sure.

Yesterday, a part of me wanted to go to church. To listen, to sing. But, that would entail work. Loss of sleep. Seeing people. I considered writing my own sermon. Guess what I eventually considered that? Yep, work. This state of mind is killing me. I am insane and not getting any saner. Cut me out of my shell, break me open. I will play in the world as though it is me, but the real me is protesting, wanting to hide. There is no safety. There is no place free of expectations and demands. I remain a slave. A slave to psuedolove. A slave to fear.