I'm so tired of living.
I don't know why, but I've felt this way for as long as I can remember.
Everything just feels so mundane, so monotonous, so meaningless.
These quotidian things I do don't seem to have a purpose.
I think, maybe the problem is with me after all.
Maybe it's my fault that I can't do anything useful, despite having such high expectations set for me.
Maybe it's my fault that even the works I've completed with pride aren't the very least satisfactory to anyone else.
Maybe it's my fault that such a simple act like getting out of bed is something I have to endeavour to achieve.
Maybe I'm just...not good enough.
I keep blaming my actions onto "depression", as if I have nothing to do with them.
But maybe depression has become me.
Perhaps I'm just so pessimistic and cynical yet so vulnerable and shattered that I've become depression myself.
I don't know.
I'm so confused; I can't figure myself out.
All I know is that nothing is working out; nothing has been for a long time.
I just hope,
it's only temporary.