I have nothing witty to say.

This is the first entry I've had on this shit, I think. I'm not much for blogging lately; I guess it's a side effect of just being lacklustre about everything in life. I can't get excited about anything--not my job, not school (okay, sometimes school, but it's not as if attending school is generate immediate income merely from attending and enjoying a class), not writing, not reading, not blogging. Where can I garner pleasure from? It's one endless cycle of self-hatred and self-doubt, and plowing further and further into this whirling pit of emotional crap.

I know how I got here. My constant worrying causes me to stop attempting anything remotely beneficial to my circumstances the moment I even think about it, because I'm immediately plagued with the negating feeling that trying anything will result in failure. Why try writing when I know it's going to suck? Why try searching for a job when I know I won't get it? Why even figure out something toward a career goal when I doubt I'm even suited, qualified or even ready for something like it? Please. Why have children when they're going to be brought up in a horrible world? Why why why. Why bother? Life sucks. Don't be fooled by location changes.

I'm such a mess. I wasn't always like this. But strangely, I can't think of a time when I was different.

I'm just being emotional right now. I'm sure I'll be normal again in fifteen minutes.