Is Life Worth Living?

(Warning: Melodrama Ahead.)

This week's therapy session was a doozy.

I began the session by talking about my feelings on how therapy was going, because it occurred to me that the last few times had been rather scattershot in approach (mostly because I directed them that way). I think this sort of rambling about everything and nothing is how my therapy experiences have always gone, which is maybe a big reason why I've never made any progress in the past 7+ years.

I also noted that I'd been failing miserably at the exercises and homework assignments he's been giving me. I have so much trouble even doing something as simple as breathing exercises. He agreed that I wasn't doing this on purpose, and he asked me why I thought I had so much trouble.

This brought us to the question that titles this post: Is life worth living?

Always in the back of my mind, since even before I started receiving treatment, the answer has been "no." For me, the problem is a lack of any and all hope—hope that my life will get better, hope that I'll overcome my issues with anxiety and depression, hope that I'll have friends, a decent job, a girlfriend, and, you know, all the things that make life worthwhile, all the things other people strive for.

The thing is, my life has always sucked. I've struggled with these same problems of depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember. I don't have any kind of life other than this one to refer to. When I think about the future, all I can see is more of the same.

(To be continued...)