What is the point of living? I mean in a philosophical way rather than a suicidal way. It’s Sunday afternoon and I don’t want to write. I don’t want to read. I don’t want to watch TV.
All I want is to sleep or get fucked up or something. Now rationally I know it’s because I’m depressed. People do things they like during their free time. Just because I don’t want to do anything doesn’t mean that life is not worth living.
One of my docs upped my ssri meds to 150mg. I’m not sure it will work.
I just want to sort of melt into the floor and sleep.