To Die or Not to Die

There are a lot of things in my mind in the last couple of months ever since the quarantine reared its ugly head and most of them are not good things. I have been thinking of the worth of my life and what I have accomplished, and it is not a very remarkable sight to say the very least.

I graduated as the first place in Senior High for the Humanities and Social Sciences track. I played piano and won a couple of championship trophies. And that is it. My crowning glories. It is sad to say but I cannot think of anything else noteworthy.

I want to learn new languages, be better in my studies, do well in life but it does not seem plausible now. Especially when I am fighting against myself and the entirety of my being. I am tired. I want to just sleep and not think about anything at all. 

My fingers no longer as nimble when I was younger, my head is a stuttering mess. I cannot focus on the things that I loved. I cannot look at my reflection in the mirror and say to myself that I am proud of the things I have done, of the things that I have accomplished.

I have been recently diagnosed with Episodic Depression, and as much that says something about my mental being. It does not ignore the fact that my willingness to do anything is compromised not by a mere sickness but my own drive as well. Let us be honest, depression is indeed a sickness, a dog that follows you around obediently, but you could still be in control if you truly wanted it out of your life. Sure, it is a hard process, and it is an ugly one at that, but we can fight it. I just do not see any reason why I would persevere still.

I do not have any ambitions now. I do not want to do anything at all. So much for flowery words and beautiful nuances of "dreams" and "aspirations" when you have come into the point where nothing else matters, where nothing matters. Music? I have seemed to just grow tired. The static in my head seem to be loud enough. Films? Too tired to even understand a word the characters spout most of the time. Books? I still like them, but I cannot seem to flip another page, I think I have grown utterly bored of them.

I do not have any memories that I am very fond of. We grow old, we forget.  Same with life lessons, most that I have learned seem to be a vague notion now. It just baffles me how come there are people who have their life together, where they could function day by day without wanting to kill themselves. 

I am not special. I am not deluded into thinking that I am. There are a lot of people who have similar problems, who have it worse that I do. But it does not change the fact that how come we are so different? How come even though we want to be better, we still go back to that pitiful, pathetic state that we want to leave behind? 

Kudos to those who can live through this life and be better.