I have worked out my problem. One of them anyway, my main one. No matter what has happened through my short, yet dragging live, it has always come back to this simple little fact.
Since I was small, so small that I used to get up before my parents. I'd get an incredibly strange feeling down through my chest, like I had swallowed something to big with sharp edges and it burned with an incredible tightness down my throat. I thought I was hungry, so I ate sultanas because those were the only things I could reach and get my hands on. But the feeling persisted - lonely and hungry.
I still get it to this day, and all though it's taken a long time, through trial and error I have come some way to realise that it's depression. I've always had something nagging at the back of my mind, and I've interpreted it as this and that, but it's always been the same thing. It's a wounder all those child psychiatrists I was sent to didn't pick it up.
It didn't used to bother me before, I suppose it can't bother you if you don't know what it is.
I don't really enjoy living; I don't get much pleasure out of life. It's pretty much as simple as that. I can't really see the point of it all. I mean when it all comes down to it, there's nothing is there, and even if somewhere at the top, the end of the journey, it all becomes clear and all falls into place, well that's of little help in the here and now.
But the other day I did discovered the meaning of life and whether you believe it or not my theory does have some merit. The meaning of life is nothing, nothing what so ever. And there in lies the beauty of it. I began to find it imposable to hate or think badly of anybody. Even people like sporty cocks, who really used to rake my garden before, lost all powers of annoyance for me, at my moment of realisation anyway. As how could I begrudge anyone their little lot in life if the only point to it was to bum around and try and have a few laughs before we drop off? Each to his own. If you want to sit on the couch and drink beer for eighty years, go for it. When you kick the toilet you at least will have had some fun and chuckles. Why achieve only to achieve nothing?
I thought I just needed some direction in my life. If I worked out what I wanted to do for a career, get a book published, find someone special - start doing STUFF. But I don't think that's it. Even if all that happened I don't believe it would alter the empty feeling I have that there should, that there IS something more. I want to leave everything behind and forget about all things mortal and move on to the next level of existence.
Sometimes I feel, if, as a hypothetical at any rate, that if reincarnation is the way of things, then in my last incarnation I missed out on reaching Nirvana by half a gnat's wing, and I'm only here to learn the tiniest of tiny lessons. Thus as you can imagine I'm bloody anxious to be off into the great beyond, which I feel I am already slightly a part of. Arrogantly I don't feel I belong and I've been left behind by the greater... the greater something! I'm supposed to know some great secret handed down at the time of the next great journey - death, but I don't know it, I wasn't told or I forgot. I have a great feeling of being above it all, of flying away. Of, up, up, up, and never returning. But in this earth bound state I still feel such am empathy with life that such total breaks and segregations like suicide are hard, nay, imposable peaks to surmount. There is so much to consider when one wants to kill ones self. Where, what to say in the note, and above all, HOW? There are no easy ways in which to die, pills give you horrible stomach pains? Where to obtain a gun? Etc. etc. You can fuck it up so easily. And even then will that solve the problem? If you are a Spiritualist, then the here after is merely a much much much more advanced earth plane; your problems follow you. It's rather depressing to think you might be depressed for the next three hundred years don't you think?
But although still here, I'm forgetting all about human kind, I can't relate to people. People are becoming more and more alien to me. I can't sympathise with what they hold most dear and sacred. It all seems a little petty at times.
Love has no meaning for me. I have no faith in it; it's only in fairy tales. It is a whim born for the mind and souls well being. I receive my strong emotional drive and feelings through depression. I need that to really feel alive. It's an emotion unlike any other, and pain never lets you down, there can only be up from there. The emotion is to live, and the feeling of despair is better than no true feeling at all. The downward spiral never deserts, though if it does, it is then only replaced by something better. How then can you loose in that respect, if you look at it that way?
Everything is behind me; I've always been waiting to die. On the scale of things I'm about ninety and I'm just filling in time 'till I kick off.
Maybe the truth is that I don't want to be completely happy. There's no meat on the bones of happiness. I see bliss as some form of comfortable numbness.

Case No. One