 I feel like I have a case of arrested development. For starters, though this is hardly the source of my discontent, I'm in my early 30's and I don't have the things people my age should have, like a house, a family, a good career. What's worse is that my passions and hobbies have all seemed to have died off as well. I used to have passions. These days I get up and go to work for 9 hours, then come home to make a half-assed meal because I can't be bothered to spend 2 hours cooking. Then I lay in bed until the next day. If I try to force myself to learn a new skill, or to engage in one of my former hobbies, I usually end up sitting/standing around just staring into the void. I know what I need to do to get better at a thing, but actually doing it just doesn't seem to work out. It feels like my head is full of smog, like the second I start to try I suddenly become very confused and tired beyond my control. I force myself to soldier on but its like dragging dead weight through a blizzard. I don't see any progress, every step is a labor, and I can't tell where I'm even going. I study or practice new things only to forget anything I learned the next day. That's if I can even get myself to actually do them. Most of the time if I force myself to try and improve my mind just starts screaming at me about how I cant do it, pointing out how dumb I am, or how far behind I am. I start to remind myself constantly about all the bad things I ever did and realize that even if I did succeed, I wouldn't be happy with myself or who I am. I wouldn't like myself, no matter what I accomplished. I don't like being me. Its not even that I would find my particular attributes distasteful if they belonged to another person. I just don't like being myself, I don't like ***being*** me. But any changes I make to myself, my personality, my body, are just lies. Its me playing a role, being a person other people would find acceptable, but not what I want. I frequently wake up and the first thing I think is how I wish my parents had just aborted me as a baby. I've been miserable as long as I can remember, and I have vivid memories that go all the way back to early childhood. Its not that I want to die, I just feel like there is too much wrong. Even if I had a house, a family, a good career, and fulfilling passions, I still don't think I would like myself, or my brain, or my memories, or my sins, or who I see in the mirror. There's just too much baggage, too much to carry around, and defiantly too much to share honestly with another person. I feel like I'm just waiting in my little hole in the wall until it is all over. I don't even know if it is a choice anymore because when I think of maybe trying to change it there are so many hurdles, financial hurdles, social hurdles, physical hurdles, that I cant imagine how I would pull it off or be happy with the result if I did. And every time I have tried to 'go out there into the big wide world and live life' to discover some new spark of joy that could grant me happiness, all I've done is add to that ever expanding encyclopedia of regrets, wishing to my bones that I had just stayed in my little corner of the world where I belong.