Why your life is worth living: by comparison
I (secretly) hate myself for blaming my (adopted) child for ruining my marriage, and my life. He is difficult and stubborn to parent, and my wife is determined to break every 10-year-old habit he has. We fight with him, punish him, deny him of everthing (we think) that matters--and all it does is make us hate each other and cope with the fact that some people should never be parents.
So I drink, I self-medicate in other ways (I totally understand Mr. Limbaugh's weakness), and pretend I don't resent my neighbors for their happy, Lifetime Move Network lives where they love their biological children and their wives and their husbands, hang their family pictures in their offices (I do not), and laugh with cheap white zinfandel in their hands at the neighborhood get-togethers that I avoid because it is a reality show of the most personal kind that reminds me of my own life's pathetic shortcomings.
On any given night, I don't sleep more than 90 minutes at a time, and when I do it's on a sofa somewhere other than where my wife is. I have had desperate-biological-need s** twice in 10 years (if you don't count the numerous times I've had solo s** while fantasizing I was living someone else's life). My life is about as pathetic as those three facts would seem to indicate. But wait--there's more!
I've come close to killing myself at least once a week for the past 3 years. Close. My 'family' doesn't know that late at night, when only my demons and I are awake, I go in the basement and point a gun at my head with the hammer cocked, eyes closed, thinking about all 44 years of wasted oxygen. Or I wrap a plastic bag around my skull and come close to passing out forever, but don't even have the guts to let the fade go from gray to black. The cowardice guarantees more hate insues (see paragraph above for details of the week that follows).
One of these days I will succeed--and fail. They may be as scarred for life as I am by every damn minute I breathe on this rock. But at least I'm well-insured--suicide 'riders' have long expired--so they can buy all the therapy my prior existence will require to erase.
IMHO, depression is the way "God" tells us we aren't worthy to walk among the rest of you. So the lesson to learn is that no mattter how bad your life seems to be, you should enjoy the ride at my expense. Chances are, my life is definitely one you would NOT trade your life for on your worst day.