Thoughts I have occasionally:
I’m such an awful person, it’s better I’d be dead or far away from doing damage.
I’m such a different person than everybody else, I’ve hard time fitting in and I always struggle.
But yet again, different is not bad, different is good for the mass. I’m on the far side of a Gaussian distribution. We were always told the far side was better than the anonimity of the majority.
If nothing else, the few specimen that are out of the majority are at least good for biological (or sociological) diversity.
So I only need to find my place and use in this world.
The next bout of insidious thoughts:
If I don’t find a use for me, my diversity is for nought.
If I do find my use, but don’t do anything to be useful (like now), then I’m wasting my life. It will be taken from me (aka I’ll get terminally ill).
No conclusion yet:
I know I shouldn’t be thinking in this way, but this line of thoughts pops up a lot. I’m acknowledging it here, but I I’ll yet to think the way out.
Depression is like a call for acknowledgement, at least in a way, at least to me.
It’s a bit like “Look at me, I’m depressed, won’t you help me?!”
It’s a cry for help. (By the way, we (I) hide it. So no one actually hears this cry.) Many times, I feel depression as a tantrum. I want someone to notice, someone to see me as I am, to stand beside me and to comfort me. I’m too proud to point it out. Or maybe I believe only if someone noticed by themselves, would it mean they care about me. Then when I notice what I’m doing, I start to hate myself for it.
Most of the time, people don’t notice. This is the first fault in such my behaviour (using depression as a tool for getting attention). And again, one of the reasons I get depressed is not being independent. (Or, what came first, the chicken or the egg?) This is the second fault in my behaviour. I should start to learn to deal with my own problems. There’s nobody to do it for me.
What am I now? Sad? Angry?
I’m mostly satisfied to have analysed this thought.
Not caring is also a suicidal state of mind.
Like this, one is drifting into a slow death of their mind. Sooner or later, one develops a terminal disease so the body could follow.