/lit/ - Literature

it's getting harder to speak everyday. just now i lay on my bedroom floor thinking about the sparse moments i actually felt some enjoyment out of life.

there's nothing wrong with me. i'm young, i'm thin, i have money, etc. but there's something missing. being alive, though sedentary, is getting aggravating. nothing would satisfy me more than having the ability to look inside my mind and draw a logical conclusion. prodding around in my head like that does me no good though.

is it because i'm lonely? am i just depressed? is this what happens when i'm left alone with my own thoughts? why am i like this?