flushes of extreme melancholy

i'm tired, i'm tired of pretending to enjoy anything. why? why do we even try? why do we anything? i know there is no why, but still, i wish there was.

it's weird that we have choices and taste--why should one thing taste good to one person yet not to another? it's weird that we have choices...

what if i had a problem with having a problem?

i think my greatest fear is death and i feel that i can no longer shy away from this fear. i feel i must confront it fully.