I’ve been depressed my entire life. I didn’t get diagnosed until I was 19. I’m 32 now. I don’t have fond memories of times when I was happy. I never was. My childhood memories are of me wishing I was different. Wishing I had different looks or a different personality. Wishing I was more likable. Really just wishing I was someone else altogether. 

My brother died 6 months ago. I moved away from home 5 years ago, and I have no friends or family where I live currently. I’m alive right now, solely because I don’t want my mom to grieve two children so close together. That, and I don’t have anyone to take care of my pets. 

I go to work and love on my students—they make my life tolerable for 8 hours, but when I come home..I’m alone. Alone with my worthlessness and depression. I smoke weed, eat, and pass out on the couch. What is the point? I’m tired of living. I’m tired of going to therapy and taking meds for my broken brain. Nothing helps. 

I am ready to be done with this life.