I sit here at the keyboard and I don’t really know where to start. The title is “My Depression Speaks” and my depression doesn’t want to talk to you. It doesn’t want me to talk to you. But I’m going to. I might do this more than once. Or I might delete this whole thing before posting it. I don’t know. But I’m going to write down what my depression is saying to me:
Nobody cares what I’m telling you. Nobody wants to hear it. People have their own problems. They don’t need to hear about yours. They’ll just think you’re a loser. They already think you’re a loser, but this will make it worse. Someone will probably unfriend you if they even bother to see it now (or hide you) so they don’t have to see any more of your whiny nonsense anymore.
You’re not going to make it. You’re not ready. You can’t do it. You can’t do anything. You can’t finish anything. Anything you do finish isn’t good enough anyhow. I don’t see why you even bother to try. All your ideas are dumb, anyway. You’re just a loser doing a job nobody wants, nobody wants to look at, and you’re probably going to lose that anyhow. And then you’ll be stuck — nowhere to go. You can’t even get by on what you get from it. And there’s no use trying to find anything more or better — money is too tight everywhere, and you don’t fit anybody’s idea of who they want to hire. Nobody wants to hear your ideas or your solutions — they wouldn’t work, and nobody would go along with them anyway.
What a waste of space and time. Nobody can rely on you — you always flake out and let them down if it really matters.
So, now you’re wallowing in self-pity. Anything, as long as it doesn’t matter.
It goes on from there, and it gets meaner. It trashes you as well, since you’re reading this. Sorry. I’m done with this for now.