But I am not there yet. I still victimize myself, I still hate myself, I can't stop fighting myself. I know that the only way to live is to learn to pick up the parts I hate and learn to live with them rather than fight them- but it almost seems counterproductive to do so. Things seem alien to try, as if there is a fear in simply going up to them to experiment with them. I stand next to things and watch them progress while I stay where I am, and in the end it is only my fault because I am afraid to jump.

Fear this great is not combative. It sneaks into you and becomes part of you. Voices scrawl into your head, and regardless of their source or origin they have one distinct tone and familiarity- you. And who better to trust than yourself, right? We become so obsessed with the truth of these foul thoughts that we disregard truths around us. Positive reinforcement in the outside world gives way to sick perversions in our heads. Are those with depression true narcissists? Rather listening to their own self voices than what truth lies before them? It does not matter.

In the moment of depressive lunacy, streams of consciousness feel like the only things that are keeping you alive. People usually refer to it as a "spiral" (famously, "The Downwards Spiral") as it twists and turns your thoughts into greater leaps and bounds of fiction until all rational thought is completely lost in a matter of minutes. But at the same time, when you are in this mindset, you feel comforted. Like there is almost some sort of force keeping you invulnerable from harm- not friendly, but safe. It feels bad to escape from this state of dismay, and you cling to it dearly until something more instantly important makes you slowly forget it, such as sleep or masturbation.

But it's normal to feel like this every once in a while. Humans feel sadness, despair, anger, emotion. Removing these feelings are impossible, and repressing them is dangerous. What separates people with and without depression and anxiety disorder is being able to recover from this, is what I am slowly realizing. There were months at a time where this would never end for me, where every single day felt like a rambling incoherent despicable mess, where every time I thought I knew my issues new ones would come up and consume me. Recently I haven't bothered trying to sum up months of my life anymore, for the sole fact that I don't find it worth my time or energy that could be spent on other things. While this might be a sign of progress, the problem comes with that I am slightly anxious on the question if I AM progressing...

So, for the first time in my life, I ask myself a question. This is not the first time I have thought of this question, but this is the first time I have given it credit without immediately answering it. "No." I would immediately state as it entered my mind, "It's pretty much guaranteed to not be better than this.". So I ask myself this the first time: Will I wake up tomorrow, read this, and realize this is all fiction? Will I finally move on from this point and take a step forward, even if I move back in the future? Will this all unfortunately make the same sense it does now, or am I finally ready to

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