I am 29 years old and I am empty inside. I have been depressed and hated myself for longer than I can remember. The things in life that once brought me joy long ago mean absolutely nothing to me and it is a daily struggle to simply get out of bed. Despite all this I manage to maintain a false personality for friends and family and the various other people I deal with on a regular basis. Not a single one of them know how completely miserable I am in life; as far as they're concerned I'm still a nice, wise-cracking fun person to be around who takes the time to make others happy. Pretend to be something long enough and you become an expert at it.
Nothing I have done in my life has affected a change on my situation, and much of what I've done tends to make things worse. Talking about the way I feel is useless, as it would alarm the people in my life that I care about and they've been through enough without my added problems. There is no catharsis for me as at the end of the day I still see my greatest problem staring back at me in the mirror.
I. Hate. Me.
Writing here won't change anything. I've done it simply because I have nothing else to do at the moment.