Sick of This

I am sick to death of this. It doesn't make any sense. It has no rhyme or reason. I'm not me, and I hate who I am now. I don't want to leave my house. I don't want to leave my freaking rooms. I can't stand the idea of being around and interacting with people. If I'm not sad all day, I'm angry. The smallest, stupidist, most insignificant things can either make me mad as hell or make me want to crawl in a hole and die.

I'm constantly apologizing. I feel like every bad thing that happens around me is my fault. I feel like when I'm around, I suck the air, the life out of everything. I hate myself, I feel sorry for myself, I hope for it all to change, to go back to the way I used to be.

My health is awful. I feel and look like this giant blob of grease and fat and sickness, and that adds to the feeling bad for being around and the general unhappy. Not to mention the not wanting to be around people. I take five pills a day now, three of which are supposed to help with the crazy. But they don't tell you that they don't always work. That sometimes they make things worse. That they aren't really a cure.

What happened? What did I do? What changed?

Common logic says that its not anything that I did. That it's beyond my control. But how many people deal with worse and get on just fine? What gives me the right to be sad because I'm sad? Because someone on the internet said something that hurt my feelings? When I have so much and so many have so little, what's so wrong with me that it's okay for me to be a perpetual mope?

Mom wants me to see a shrink. Should probably let him read this. No one else will.