Trapped.

For once in my life. I am at rock bottom.
I don't feel like hurting myself.
Don't feel like myself.
Don't feel like looking at myself.
Don't know myself.
I don't know how to act.
I don't know who to talk to
How, or what about.
Nothing is really worth talking about.
I'm depressed. This is clear.
I let it eat me alive like it never has before.
I am more aware of how bad it effects me.
I don't function. I don't do anything.
Even seeking validation I don't give a shit.
Everyone has their lives.
Everyone kinda keeps up.
My life is still moving.
I am not.
I am not motivated.
I am not happy
I am not content.
I am not patient.
I am not inspired.
I don't care anymore.
I am not me.
I am not a McRee, a Hunt, a anything.
I'm without identity and slowly losing personality.
There has to be something said to post-secondary schools
about how everyday life there effects the students.
There has to be a wake up call.
I am drowning in the sea of depression.
I have a midterm tuesday. Who knows if I will even look at it.
I do not want school if it makes me want to contemplate suicide again
I live a dream that I never wanted. I live this dream because people want me to
I am smart, I do not need a university or the ability to regurgitate bullshit to prove that I am
The anxiety creeps.
The depression creeps.
I am not the only once, cynically I take some comfort in this.
Macewan, UofA, NAIT, Stanford, Yale, Brown, Notre Dame, Florida, LSU (ETC)
Have no problem taking your money, and having apathy to how your life is affected
financially, emotionally, physically.
Just give them their bread and butter.
Fuck the students, fuck the people like me who are tormented with fears of unknown and unnatural being. Fear of convention.
 You read stories of students committing suicide every week or at least attempting. This isn't enough for someone to wonder anything?
Wonder how we can fix it.
Because, having a shitty Councillor read you a book definition of chronic anxiety but not help you is not doing anything. Having a psychiatrist who does not know a damn thing about you does not help.
Outreach? For whom? I'd say the outreach is them to you, to make themselves feel better that they do not live everyday with anxiety. With the feelings of depression and regret.

Regards,
Fuck you.