Every small thing is the end of the world

Daily tasks feel like the twelve labors of Hercules. Today I did the impossible: I performed normal-people duties. I went to the bank, paid my cell phone bill, called and yelled at Verizon for said cell phone bill, went to class, and set another appointment with my therapist.

Exhausting.

I keep telling myself I am going to do all these things. All these great and wonderful things that will make my life so much easier. I'll comp! I'll read! I'll study! I'll get a second job! Things!Things!Things! But, getting out of bed, putting on (clean) clothes, and making myself look mildly presentable feels like enough effort for one day. Why should I bother trying? The more I try to make things better, the worse it gets in my head. Don't believe me? Chekkit:

No money = Sad. Therefore, new job = more money = Not sad. Right?

Wrong.

New job = less time for school. Less time for school = worse grades = sad.

Then,

"I don't work on my schoolwork anyway so I should get a job."= guilt = sad = immobilization.

And then I never get anything done. Equals sad.

I stay up until 2am every night for no reason and chastise myself for not doing work. I am consistently exhuasted and forever breaking down. Still, I have always been like this, so shouldn't I know how to handle it? Shouldn't I know how this works? I'm familiar with the pattern: Failure, guilt, shame, depression. Depression, shame, guilt, failure. So on, so on, so on.

I feel no more qualified to be a regular human-being than Sarah Palin was qualified for Vice-Presidency. Perhaps it is an overstatement, but I don't think I deserve to even be here. Maybe depression is evolution's way of weeding out the bad genes (even though, evolution more than likely does not work this way). I think about that shit. And I'm talking until like four in the morning. I think about if my pen-pal from third grade ever thinks about me and if I made her mad when I stopped writing in the sixth-grade because I was too sad. Yeah. Not kidding.

My thoughts are maddening, constant, and consuming. Yet, I feel dull.

Some wounds you can't salt though, huh?