that when I wanted to die, I didn't clean house, I didn't care what other people thought about me, I just wanted to end the suffering. I didn't want to take anyone with me, so a car wreck was out of the question. Fighting depression is like fighting The Devil, even if you win, you've lost something, and it always seems to come back later. At least it is that way for me.
I don't like being depressed, I do not enjoy it. I can't seem to snap out of it, like some people can and do. If not for my depression, I could do great things. Instead I am just another bum, another idiot, who cannot seem to do much.