A little odd.

My battle with depression is fucking exhausting. And I don't know why I bother fighting it. I win some battles but can I actually win the war?

Now I'm going through the days only so I can survive them. What's the point? Am I going to be fighting for the rest of my life? Why? What good can come of it? Nothing can really make my depression go away - things can bring me happiness but it's often temporary. And all I'm doing is wearing myself thin. I take days to recharge but then they turn into nights like this one - where I feel completely deplete of a reason for staying alive. I don't know what I'm doing here. And no one understands and or can really empathise with this. It seems like everyone finds a reason to live eventually - maybe I just haven't found mine yet. But what if I never find it? I can search the moon and stars and Netflix and people and therapy and drugs and myself but I don't see hope. I see struggle, constant and unshakeable. And I'm tired of struggling. I'm so tired. The more I read about depression and mental health, the more hopeless I feel.

I'm depressed as hell

I've been cutting and hurting

My brain tells me several times a day to kill myself

I'm ashamed of my illness

Depression is real

My emotions are volatile

I'm resigning from work

I'm broke

I'm going to the UK in a few weeks

I'm anxious about what my colleagues will think

I'm ashamed

My scars burn and I regret them, even though I know I can't stop myself

Roslan cares about me

My friends care about me

I find it hard to care right now

I'm afraid the medication isn't working

I feel alone even though I'm not

I'm trying my best (which my brain always tells me is not enough)

Seeking help is hard

I wish I was dead because suffering with BPD and depression has made life an endless torture

I will continue trying