Just an endless limbo.
You get a little better and immediately being to feel the pressure of everything you've been putting off and neglecting through your depression. You begin to work on improving yourself, just like everyone around you keeps begging you to.
You sleep at the right hours, eat the right things, exercise when possible, study and read the news and think about what job you'll be going for.
Ultimately, none of it is enough. None of it makes you feel like living. The truth is, there is no amount of "living the right way", no medicine or philosophy that will make you feel like living. Maybe it's a spiritual or divine issue, but we all know there's no such thing.
There is no amount of money I could be paid, no amount of love given, no amount of friendships or cats or breathtaking art and knowledge that would make me feel like living.
Maybe I'm too greedy, is my issue. I'm never satisfied. I begin thinking about my life and all the things I want to do and know, and the list keeps growing and growing and growing, and in the end it all amounts to nothing.
You're still in the same place. In the same Limbo. Not dead, not living. The time has passed, but you're still in the same place doing the same things.
Everything eventually ends, but you're still trying to avoid your own. Your life won't end. Your suicidality won't end. It's in a waiting room. Waiting for the call. But who's calling?
How long will the pain endure until something happens? Anything at all?
This is kind of embarrassing to be honest. I just felt like writing something. Here it is
You get a little better and immediately being to feel the pressure of everything you've been putting off and neglecting through your depression. You begin to work on improving yourself, just like everyone around you keeps begging you to.
You sleep at the right hours, eat the right things, exercise when possible, study and read the news and think about what job you'll be going for.
Ultimately, none of it is enough. None of it makes you feel like living. The truth is, there is no amount of "living the right way", no medicine or philosophy that will make you feel like living. Maybe it's a spiritual or divine issue, but we all know there's no such thing.
There is no amount of money I could be paid, no amount of love given, no amount of friendships or cats or breathtaking art and knowledge that would make me feel like living.
Maybe I'm too greedy, is my issue. I'm never satisfied. I begin thinking about my life and all the things I want to do and know, and the list keeps growing and growing and growing, and in the end it all amounts to nothing.
You're still in the same place. In the same Limbo. Not dead, not living. The time has passed, but you're still in the same place doing the same things.
Everything eventually ends, but you're still trying to avoid your own. Your life won't end. Your suicidality won't end. It's in a waiting room. Waiting for the call. But who's calling?
How long will the pain endure until something happens? Anything at all?
This is kind of embarrassing to be honest. I just felt like writing something. Here it is
