My only solace left is to contemplate death. My anger, depression and anxiety has left me with nothing but just that. I'm left with no room. I have nothing left in this world to love or care enough to go through therapy or medication in order to stay in this world. I am filled with so much sadness and grief. Drawing use to bring me soo much joy. But now, only grief and heartache. Its difficult for me just to put pencil to paper. All I can do is routine practice. Mindless and worthless shit. I'll have think about it all again, one last time. Why I suffer? And is this my reward? And what if things don't get better?