Nothing quite satisfies me. This was one of the reasons I was on kratom. I’m much happier off it, but this nagging sensation still exists. What is my life’s purpose? I start to ask really stupid questions without fulfillment. I don’t know how to make myself happy, in short, and you’d think it would be an aside at worst, but turns out it’s a full-blown mental-illness-grade brain problem. No one acknowledges this, and no one ever talks to me about it. My therapist hasn’t even gotten that far yet.
No one cares.
In the end, no one cares.
About you, about who you are, about how you’re doing.