/lit/ - Literature

>>14958741
I feel destined for a life of failure that I'll look back on with mostly regret. I feel gimped by what life has made me. Most of what I used to like about myself - and what other people liked about me - has been washed away by depression and neurosis. I'm weak, I have the least will out of everyone I've ever know. There's almost nothing I enjoy except reading but between ADHD and maladaptive daydreaming it takes me hours to read a few pages nowadays, and for the most part I can't break my mindless habits of drinking, smoking, and playing video games. I desperately need better human connections but I can hardly hold a conversation anymore and everything that comes out of my mouth is stupid bullshit. I look inside myself and just feel like I'm unconsciously crying all the time, like I feel like I'm always crying in some dull dream in the background of my thoughts. Mourning the virtues I've lost, the good things squandered and left behind, the death of my hopes, the moving on from the "best years of my life" spent mostly in humiliation, anxiety, and sadness, and yet feeling responsible for all of it. I can trace my problems to things that have happened to me but I still feel sort of helpless to myself, like no one can help me because this is who I am and it must be what I ultimately believe in if I keep being this way. I can't even enjoy food anymore. I eat raw pasta and shit because it makes no difference to me. And I can't handle anyone seeing how much of a mess I am inside and I'm falling apart at the seams trying to hide it. I'm thinking of just doing Ayahuasca again but over and over until I'm destroyed and hopefully reconstructed as something that can at least fucking relax at some point in the day without being shitfaced and crossfaded.