Inner Mind of Depression

I. Hate. Reality. Not because of the people or the things we have... but for that feeling that no matter what, you'll need money to live. You can help people for free, you can do whatever you want! But if you don't make money somehow... you're homeless, unwanted, shunned, pitied, looked at as a moocher just because you're trying to live doing things for people for free. Why is society so stuck in putting people down? Making those with less feel lesser? Why can't the world just be controlling of population and then allow those that like to cook, cook for the hungry? Let the artists make their art for people that like to look at it? Let the engineers design homes and buildings and invent to their heart's content! Everyone naturally wants to make others smile. The only reason that becomes buried is because of our need for money and power and control.

I don't want to be fake. I don't want to fit in for the sake of getting a job, for the sake of making my life better. I want to be me and for that to be okay. Every time I try to be me, the ones closest to me tell me it won't work, I won't survive in reality like that. Kill me.

So I sit here and think... changing how things are is near impossible as long as our world is so fully populated. Killing half the planet's populace would change things. But that takes effort. Is it worth it to force myself to exist in a world I want nothing to do with? I can escape into books and movies and games and writing. But it's that constant nag in my head begging me to escape that is driving me insane. There's nowhere to escape to. So death... how bad could it be? Just complete nothingness? Otherwise, try to conform to the life of work, sleep, eat, pay bills, get some free time and then back to work?

I don't know if I can do this. Exist in this reality and hold onto happiness. The only happiness I get comes from the smiles I create and the brief escapes of reality. Pets are another good example of my brief escapes; I can completely forget my hate of reality hen I'm holding or playing with or petting dogs or cats. These moments are brief though, then it's back to waiting for another escape.

Probably the only reason I haven't offed myself is that I'm passive. No motivation to find a good way to kill myself without being found. I could go off into the woods and find a place to fall and hit my head, snap my neck. Then that's going to leave my family distraught because they wouldn't find me or know for sure if I was dead or not. I don't want to cause them any problems or grief. I just want to disappear.

Why is death so hard to get when you want it, yet millions die every day that could have really wanted to live? Good person, bad person, doesn't matter. Death comes when it comes, and asking for it seems to just make it stay away. I might have to take matters into my own hands and force death to come. Yet, again, that would take effort and cause a bunch of people grief. Fuck.