Depression Rant

 It's one of those days again. You know the kind. The kind where the sky looks like a dull, washed-out canvas, and every sound seems muffled, like life itself is bored of making noise. The tea's gone cold, the bed's a mess, and there's an overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, none of this really matters.

I keep thinking, What am I doing? But it's more than that, isn't it? It's more like, Why am I doing? What’s the point in the ritual of waking up, brushing teeth, pretending to care about what shirt goes with what jeans, only to fall back into bed with nothing really changed? I feel like I'm a character in a book who’s lost the plot, and I’m flipping through pages that are blank, no narrative, no purpose. It’s like I’m just waiting for something or someone to scribble a reason into the margins.

It's this gnawing feeling, like an itch that I can’t scratch. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. I’m sick of the monotony, the same old small talk that goes nowhere, the social media feeds that feed nothing but my growing sense of inadequacy. Everyone seems to be doing something, being someone. And here I am, floating, a balloon that’s lost its string.

People say, Find your passion. But what if passion is this elusive creature, hiding in shadows, mocking me with its absence? I’m so tired of the endless search for meaning. Maybe it's just a myth, something people made up to make themselves feel better about the fact that we're all just spinning on this rock, trying to make sense of nonsense.

Sometimes, I think about the dreams I had as a kid. They seemed so grand, so tangible. But somewhere along the way, they became these distant, foggy shapes, barely recognizable. Now, they’re just ghosts that haunt me, whispering, Remember when you believed in something?

I wish I could be one of those people who find joy in the little things. Like the warmth of a sunbeam or the simplicity of a well-made sandwich. But even those moments feel fleeting, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.

I just want to feel...alive. Not just existing, but truly living. To wake up and have something—anything—that makes my heart race, that makes me feel like I’m part of something bigger. But for now, it’s just me, staring out a window, wondering if there's more to life than this endless cycle of nothing.

So here I am, spilling my thoughts into the void, hoping maybe there’s someone out there who feels the same. Because if there’s one thing worse than feeling lost, it’s feeling alone in your lostness. Maybe that’s all we really need—someone to wander with us, even if we never quite find our way.