The end of 2012 is near. I remember being involuntarily committed to a psych ward in late February and the month stay I had there. I didn't tell anyone I was there except my family. I remember joking with another patient that I'd probably have, at most, 2 missed calls after being gone for 35 days without notice. But I was wrong. There were no missed calls, no messages. Nothing.

I keep thinking about this. Nearly a year has passed. Has my life improved since then? If I suddenly vanished for a month, would anyone even notice? No, this is not just my depression talking. It happened. Between 2011 and 2012 I spent 10 months either inpatient or in intensive outpatient, in addition to regular therapy 1-2 times a week for nearly 3 years. What was all this work for, anyway? To give me hope for progress that would never happen, to convince me to live a life I don't belong in? I cannot help but to think: was this year really worth living for?

Unfortunately, I'm not sure I can honestly answer that question with a "yes," as much as I really wish I could. I wish I could say that I am thankful for the help I received even though it was forced, that I'm glad to be alive, but I'm not sure if this is even true. Is this all life really is?--living in spite of oneself, to endure life and never to enjoy it?

I'm just ranting, no need to reply...