I’ve never met me. Never been formally introduced. Never had an opportunity to form a first impression. Never had a choice. Just have to have me in my life for ever.

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I believe that if I met me, I wouldn’t like me. People find me intimidating for various reasons, but mainly because I am everything/anything that everyone/anyone is not.

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I don’t like me. Even if I wasn’t me, I wouldn’t. I worry about the people who do, more than they worry about me. Which they should. Which I don’t.

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My body isn’t mine but it is also completely and only mine. This is very confusing. I don’t want it. I want my body to get off me. Stop touching me. Get the fuck off me.

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I am in the grip of a depression. Textbook. Classic. Immaculate.

I am rarely “just depressed”, I am typically every emotion all at once, where ‘depressed’ is just one of the things I feel strongly along with 3/10/80/200 other feelings. But the past 2 weeks have been just that: textbook, classic, immaculate depression.

I forgot how dreadful it is, to be wholly depressed, to be “just depressed” without the paranoia and impulses and anxiety and rage and hyperactivity and hysteria. This is just… depression. This is just nothingness. No Thing-ness. No Thing.

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I haven’t spoken aloud for some days but thank god I can still write. My poor notebook, bearing the gravity of this nothing.

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I, I, I. There is a lot of “I” in this post. But I am all I know. And I don’t even know me. I know nothing.