I sit down and work, or attempt to work. Short bursts of a few minutes of concentration at a time happen. The paper is getting written. But do I even want to write it? It's all so meaningless.
A scientist without any impact on reality is meaningless. I guess I am meaningless.
Am I? I have a partner, but does that give me meaning? I don't think so. I don't feel it, at least. I rarely feel postive things, after all. I wish all the other people would go to lunch so I could quietly sneak out and go home and lie on my bed without doing anything at all, just waiting for my therapy session in about 3 hours.
Therapy that may or may not work. You tell me I have trauma, but what kind of trauma? I don't even get where it could really come from.
The only thing that is traumatizing to me is existing. Existence is pain, and often death looks inviting. No, that's wrong, not death. Non-existence. Fading into nothingness. Just stopping to be. That would be my dream, often. But thoughts like this make me feel really bad about the people that care about me, and that I care about. But what can I do?
My mind is telling me what my mind is telling me.
Why can't I be happy, or at least content? Compared to so many on here, and out there, my life looks pretty good from the outside. But... "when everything inside has turned to shit, life itself means nothing". I'm going to listen to that now.