Reflecting back on what I posted yesterday, I think the biggest problem is my life feels empty. I think a lot of folks who miss out on one aspect of life find fulfillment in another, and it may act as a substitute for what's missing -- or, if not a substitute, at least be something positive someone can point to and feel good about in its own right.

For example, the suggestion that I adopt. That makes total sense, to suggest that if I can't have my own kids that I could legally adopt my own kid someday. It's trying to give me the experience of parenting and raising children even if I don't have my own.

I've already stated why that doesn't seem possible or probable, and I say that not out of depression but out of awareness about adoption laws and income requirements, and that I'm in my mid-late 40's. So I suggested my own substitution, which was volunteering to help kids somehow once I get better enough to do so.

Even if that's something I could do, part of me is emotionally resistant to it because I anticipate volunteering to help kids won't fulfill what I wanted: a close emotional bond, like family, and doing special things for the holidays together. That look on your kid's face when they first see all their Christmas presents. That. This sort of moment will not be part of my life if I were to volunteer to help kids, or if I did help hand out Christmas presents donated for the most unfortunate kids, it still wouldn't be the same. And I would probably be reminded on a regular basis that these kids are not mine, and my relationship to them would be different. I know this from work I used to do with kids years ago, when I was volunteering while in college.

So, if this may not be satisfying and even trigger grief in me to work with kids as a volunteer, I have to be careful with that. I don't want to bring my personal baggage into a situation where a child needs my help, even if only short term or momentary. That's not fair to them. And not good for me.

I begin to think about other people who couldn't have kids, and what they did. Well, some of them threw themselves into their careers. Some of them had jobs that just paid the bills, but invested a lot of their time after work into home improvement and entertaining their friends at home and showing off their home improvements. Others traveled a lot, and took on work assignments that were offbeat and unusual in order to travel.

So, people who either have been childfree by choice or did not have their own kids for any reason ended up putting their energy into their career, home, social life, or travel.

All of which makes sense. It's what I would do, too. Only... I get depressed because I don't have the same choice other people do in the same situation.

I haven't been able work because I've been too sick and disabled to work. I was forced to move out of my home and live with others as a charity case -- for which I'm very thankful for because otherwise I would probably be couchsurfing for a while and eventually homeless.

But I don't own a home, and I have nearly nothing of my own in the space where I live. I have part of a closet, a place to lay my head, and a few shelves. That's it. This, after I had thoughts of buying my own home and decorating it however I want and organizing it how I want. It didn't happen. I got sick and I lost a good paying job.

And where I live now, it's a constant battle to get others to keep it clean and organized simply so I don't trip and hurt myself (I have neuropathy, and can't feel the bottom of my feet, so it's important that people don't leave even small things on the floor for me to stumble on at night.).

It wouldn't be half so bad to not have what I wanted for my life if it were more acceptable to live where I am now. But this place gets messy and cluttered very quickly, and no one really wants to do housework here even if they are able bodied and have lots of energy. When asked, they say it isn't a priority and they have more important things to do.

For me, it's a high priority for things to be clean and organized. It affects my health, both physical and mental, to be in a space that's cluttered and disorganized. But the people I live with don't seem to be affected by any mess.

I keep trying to remind myself that if it weren't for this roof over my head, I could be homeless. That temporarily staves off my frustrations. But eventually I come back to the thought that there's more to life than this and I want things to get better. That I don't want to live like this indefinitely.

And I remind myself it's not all awful. I keep trying to remind myself of that, too. My basics are covered. I have clothes on my back, food to eat, and healthcare. People care about me and make sure I am okay, and if I need a ride to a doctor's appointment, I often get one.

I am very appreciative of that. Even though I am in pain and disabled, I try to contribute and show my appreciation to others. Even if it takes all day for me to scrub one load of dishes and put them in the dishwasher, I do that. Even if I have to wipe down a counter minute by minute over time, I do. It's something within my control to do even if it takes me much longer than the average person to do and I have to rest a lot.

Even as I am aware that I have what I have, and know that a good percentage of the world lives in extreme poverty... I feel empty. And I realize it isn't just about not meeting certain goals which are highly valued in the real world (home ownership, career, adventurous travel) but that inner, personal goals are unmet as well (relationship with offspring, building more intimate friendships, an active social life, exploring new hobbies, etc.).

I guess I feel empty, and like my tank has been running on fumes for a long time. I've tried to fill it myself by reading online, coloring for relaxation for 15 minutes (until I have to stop because my wrist hurts), cooking new but simple recipes and sharing them with a neighbor, listening to bands I never heard of before, and a few other solitary activities.

But my time is mostly solitary here. I don't integrate/fit into where I am that well. I don't think the people around me can easily relate to me and understand me even if they care about helping me.

I think this is one thing that's really getting under my skin, and I don't know how to address it. But it does change what I experience as solitude into loneliness over time, and is feeding the depression.

I've rambled on long enough. I don't know if it's helped or not. But maybe it has.