I have been having mixed feelings. Depression has paralyzed me - again. I'm stuck in my midterm at uni; my relationship is robotic, to say the least, at the moment; my students are leaving in flocks; I feel the water hitting my ass and yet I cannot move.

In spite of all that I still tell others I'm fine, I'm well, I'm OK. But I'm not. And I don't know what do with this. I mean, I do. But I do not feel the drive to muster energy and courage to do it.

I've been oscillating between self-loath and self-pity, not knowing which one is more comfortable. Inertia. Inertia is shit! Brain damage - that's what comes to my mind every time I stop to think about it. You can fix a car in a garage. There's no repair shop for a damaged brain. You just live with it. Somehow. The pain I feel inside is stronger than the pain in my body.

I live vicariously - novels, movies, other people's dreams and desires. I fictionalize everybody's lives so that I don't need to think about my own. It's fucked. I'm fucked. I'm brain-fucked.

I keep wondering how death comes suddenly to so many people and to me it's a slow-motion walking towards the end, and end that is never soon enough, is never sudden enough.

Yes, I'm again dealing with my death wishes, my unappeased desire to become nothing, to have never been anything, to simply deep dive into oblivion. My longing for not being even a faint memory in people's mind.

I'm nothing, I'm fake, I'm disturbingly, efficiently, "pantomimically" nothing. A null. A nought. A non-being. A non-existing thing. Or I am not. Simply. I am not. I don't exist.

It's an illusion, a delusion, a figment of some devilish mind's imagination.