2006-03-21 - 1:59 p.m.
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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