My Depression

It has become blatantly clear to me, in recent days, how unfulfilled my life has become. It starts as an ache in the pit of my stomach and works its way throughout my body. It is a numbness, a terminal disease that consumes me completely. My mind feels as if it is on fire, but I am so far detached I barely notice it, yet it obsesses me.

I just sent an e-mail to someone from my past lamenting on the fact of how little meaning my life has. I see people with families of their own, but not me. To an outsider, I have everything a person could possibly want. It is merely material wealth, however. They are the "toys" that I buy to dull the pain that ebbs and flows inside of me. On the inside, I am a ticking time bomb that is waiting to explode, but hopefully not loudly enough for another living soul to notice.

I get this way occasionally. I sob and quietly complain, then it sort of goes into remission. I see all the potential I have, and it only makes the weight in my soul that much heavier to bear. The category of love has always eluded me the most. I want a home that I share with someone who I love. That single person who completes me somehow. Instead, I come home to emptiness and shadows. I live pretty much the way you might expect a monk in a monastery to live.

I am a nun who gets none. It is chronic.

Even now, it consumes me, eating away at my insides. My tears flow freely now, as I think of the failures of my past. You would think that something like love is free and plentiful, but for me it is meager and elusive. I fear one day that I will find myself completely alone and isolated from the rest of the world. I will be an old man who never found the true meaning of life. I will have sailed aimlessly through the void and crashed into the rocks hidden barely beneath the surface. I will have sank and drowned, and no will have been there to save me, or even notice I am gone.

I envy those people who have found love. Honestly, I deplore them. I tighten my jaw and feel the blood rising in my neck. It keeps getting hotter and hotter until I am left breathless in fury and self-loathing. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I contain myself.

What has brought about this level of depression and malevolence?

Recently, I have been reading these fantasy romance books. Yeah, it sounds corny, but I enjoy them, even if they leave me in a saddened stupor. Some people have so much love they find it hard to utilize. They are bombarded with warm hands and eyes that look at only them. I haven't seen those eyes or felt those hands in so many years now. I always force myself into a false sense of belief that those feelings are not for me. There is still a part of me--a large part--that yearns for a carnal dose of humanity.

Even now, I feel cold chills run along my spin. I go back into my mind and realize that there is only silence in this house. I am its only occupant, a prisoner of circumstance. They say there is someone for everyone. I haven't found that person yet. Perhaps, I am special. Maybe those other people simply settled for someone who isn't their special someone. I am looking, but not really holding out much hope for him.

Mostly I am stoic, but today I am cynical; it hurts.