Enraged at how much work it takes to keep one single person going. All the endless chores. What is the point? Where is the pleasure? Where is the joy in living? *I* don't feel it. All i wish is that i could check-out. Go to sleep and never wake up. Tired of all the exhausting decisions. Sick of life. That ffuucckkiinngg therapist has still NOT called me. What is the point of asking for help? There is no help out there. As usual it is me on my own managing my own psychiatric disability with one doctor i talk to on the phone infrequently and lie to in order to up my sedating meds so i can sleep my life away. I would like to spend the rest of my life in a coma. It will be the same day tomorrow struggling struggling struggling, and for what? What am i living for?