I've been thinking about this a lot lately--it's probably been my most frequently repeated thought over the past few months: "What are you still *doing* here?" It's very different from other depressed and suicidal thoughts I have, mostly because it's so much more compelling. Because, after all, what *am* I still doing here? Every day I wake up in the morning, go to (or more likely, ditch) my classes, make an attempt at my homework. I go through all the motions, I let myself get carried towards the future by the inertia that is being alive, and I have no destination in mind: no goals, no passions, nothing that I can point to as a landmark and say, "look, I *did it*!" I'm living just because it is, quite literally, what I have always done. The one thing that gets me out of bed in the morning is that I enjoy seeing my friends, and I don't want to lose or alienate them. But these days, it's just not enough. Even if I have something now, in the moment, I have nothing that I'm looking forward to in the future; I don't feel like what I'm doing--school work, homework, hobbies (the ones I still have left)--is *building* towards anything. I'm purposeless. I'm a puff of smoking, dispersing in the wind.

Maybe this is why I attach myself to any girl who shows any interest in me: if I don't have some*thing* to look for, I'm looking for *someone*. I don't know anymore. It's all just too much.