| 2006-03-21 - 1:59 p.m.
Black Dog
This is not an uplifting entry. There is no reason for it, you know. No reason for what Churchill called "The Black Dog". There is no trauma in my life. I have a great husband...I am healthy. I have food (too much at times), shelter. Health insurance and a decent car. Lots of debt, but nothing that we aren't handling. But I want to be dead. Every night I go to sleep and wish I was dead. This is hard to write. Because there's no reason. I have much to be happy about, and if not happy, at least content and not depressed. I'm an ingrate. And no one likes a whiner. But I don't want to be here. It all seems pointless. I seem pointless. I have no fear of what happens after, because in my belief system, it's either heaven or nothing. So if it's heaven, cool. If it's nothing....oh well. I won't know. Oh, I wouldn't DO anything. I'm not afraid of death, I'm afraid of PAIN. Hence the wising and hoping for death while I sleep. I'm under no delusions about my importance in the universe. The world would have been fine if I'd never been born, it'll be fine when I'm gone...I'm not that big a deal. Really. It's ok.
It's just...just....just...gah. Apathy and ennui. Yeah. I should probably call the shrink. I feel like someone substituted a placebo for my prozac.
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