I did all the things. All the things people tell you to do when you're depressed. I've been a junky since I was 12. I hadn't even hit puberty by the time I was smoking crack and anything else the older kids would sell me. Most other kids were out riding bikes and playing basketball etc, I was dropped off by my parents at some womans house I never met. They didn't come back for over a year. Meanwhile she paid me in drugs to watch her kids while she was at work. But i got clean almost 4 years ago. I relapsed one night when my mom died this past November ( I didn't even know her name until 6 years ago) but that's it. I became an alcoholic by the age of 14. But I quit drinking. I got off the street (my car) after a year of living in it ( and most of my life since childhood) and Into a good apartment. Ive held the same job for 6 years now. I bought the nicest car, hell the nicest anything I ever owned. Just paid it off this week. I spent ten grand on music equipment hoping to feel inspired again. I spoiled myself at every turn this past year. From the outside I'm doing better than ever. Taking better care of myself. And I should be proud, I should be grateful.

But im not. I hate every second of it. As long as I can remember. I don't remember much of my life, i suppose trauma mixed with drugs tends to do that. What I do remember im just completely ashamed of. Everything about me is wrapped in self hatred. 

You know how most people think back on their lives and have these moments in time they would give anything to go back to? Why don't I have that? I don't have any of those. I don't even remember who my first kiss was. Instead I'm just embarrassed to be alive. I hate this shell. This skin I live in. There isn't a single aspect of who I am as a person that I would keep if I were given an option. I'd throw it all out. 

I've done everything, I meditate, I've been diagnosed, I try to wrangle my thoughts back in every time they spiral out. I spoil myself, cut out those who brought negativity into my world. But I feel empty. More now than ever before. Now I've just given up. I don't even try to connect with the outside world anymore. Everyone always tells people it gets better when they're depressed, but in over two decades every day is the same.  When is it supposed to feel like this was worth the fight? Like all the days I've struggled through are going to mean something? Will I ever know what it's like to go to bed and not stare at the ceiling wishing I wasn't such a god damned coward so I could put it to an end? I've never seen anything but the worst side of the world, and the people in it. And I still wish I could be them instead of me. 

Sorry for the negativity, I just don't have anyone to tell how it is for me.