/lit/ - Literature

I disguise my lack of ambition and accomplishments in life with a veneer of elevated indifference, and I'm always anxious about whether people can see through this charade. I also haven't cleaned my room in years and I think about killing myself way too often. It seems to me the only way to live in this world is to make yourself numb to it, and so I try not to be consciously present too often. This works fine for the most part, until it all hits you at once the form of panic/anxiety attacks. The only thing I really enjoy anymore is sleeping because it lets me dream.