My friends are my estate.
Everything's plastic, we're all going to die sooner or later, so what does it matter.
That is all I want in life: for this pain to seem purposeful.
Some friends don't understand this. They don't understand how desperate I am to have someone say, I love you and I support you just the way you are because you're wonderful just the way you are. They don't understand that I can't remember anyone ever saying that to me. I am so demanding and difficult for my friends because I want to crumble and fall apart before them so that they will love me even though I am no fun, lying in bed, crying all the time, not moving. Depression is all about If you loved me you would.
. . . if you feel everything intensely, ultimately you feel nothing at all.
Depression is a lot like that: slowly, over the years, the data will accumulate in your heart and mind, a computer program for total negativity will build into your system, making life feel more and more unbearale. But you won't even notice it coming on, thinking that it is somehow normal, something about getter older, about turning eight or about turning twelve or turning fifteeen, and then one day you realize that your entire life is just awful, not worth living, a horror and a black blot on the white terrain of human existence. One morning you wake up afraid you are going to live.
I want to explain how exhausted I am. Even in my dreams. How I wake up tired. How I’m being drowned by some kind of black wave.
Property is a nuisance.
With knowledge there is no hope,. . . without hope I would sit motionless, rusting like unused armor.
The key is to enjoy life, because they don't want you to enjoy life.
Fair Game Theory: If you are dumb enough to be drained by people then you are fair game.