Why Am I Here (Rhetorical)

   I don't know why and it bothers me. I vaguely remember a life before, but who knows, I am crazy. Having borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, and god knows what else, trusting what I perceive seems too big of a risk. Sometimes I wonder if the overactive imagination I'm sometimes praised for is making things up in a subconscious attempt to solve an impossible puzzle. It's difficult to accept that I have to stay here, in this body, in this reality, not knowing what I'm doing or where I'm going. I'm a very impatient person, and life feels just endless. I'll think to myself "just make it through today, just make it through this week," but then that deadline passes and there's one more day, one more week, over and over forever. It's like when someone tells you ok do just twenty more push-ups, so you do, but then they say ok just do twenty more, and you have to seriously fight the urge to punch them in the face.

   I don't even really function on a level that could be considered living. If I get too overwhelmed I get sicker and I'm not allowed to die so gotta avoid that. I feel weak and useless. I want to be productive, support myself, have some independence. It's hard to find the balance between hard work and self care. Another reason I wish I could end it, dying would be more dignified than this. If only Klingons were real, they'd understand, amiright?

   I don't really condone suicide, because you never know if someone's situation could get better. It's just that I have no reason to expect that mine will.

At least maybe if I dump some of the shit from my head out here it might start some conversations to keep me interested.