I sat on the edge of the bed this morning and thought to myself, "I have no purpose."

I made myself get up and get out, went to the farmers market, bought some healthy food (and a homemade ice cream cone), bought a pretty bouquet of flowers to bring home and brighten up the place, and thought well, I'll just watch a little TV or something and then go back out. I have other things to do, and it's a beautiful day.

But I can't. I am on my way back to bed, and all I can think is how much this hurts, to be completely empty -- no hope, no joy, no belief that it will get better -- just blackness.

I met a new therapist yesterday. She asked me to tell her one good thing about myself. I couldn't. Normally I can come up with at least 2 or 3, sometimes more if I'm doing really well. Right now, nada. I feel like a horrible failure and a drain on the planet and on everyone who knows me. I drag myself around like I have boulders tied to me, and no knives to cut the ropes or any way to hack at the boulders to shake them loose, and I'm about to say the heck with it and quit trying altogether, since I have no good reason to get out of bed anytime soon (starting leave of absence from work on Monday).

Pdoc tried to tell me I have been here before and know it will pass. Easy for him to say. It has in the past -- but there's always a first time for everything.

This sucks.