When I say I'm depressed, it's usually not too bad--a little down, demotivated, the like. Something which is discouraging and a little detrimental, but not outright crippling. So there's this expectation of people; when I say I'm depressed, it's usually not a big deal, because being bipolar, I'm almost always at least a little depressed.
...But it is a big deal, because this? This isn't that. Thiiiis is a downward spiral where I'm an emotional wreck. Here in the real world, I'm having trouble smiling--and when I do, it's often because I feel I "should". The only times I really smile are when I retreat from reality into my fantasy realm.
The fantasy that I'm a genuinely good person. In that world, I have breasts, a vagina, a warm smile and demeanor, am highly empathetic, soft-spoken in a pleasant way, and yet a bit of a deadpan snarker. Lighthearted, yet caring about others and showing them the compassion they need and deserve, understanding them.
...But that world doesn't exist. Elements of it could, EVENTUALLY, exist; I can eventually fully transition, for instance, and do fully plan to. I certainly want to. But here in the now, even if they could...they DON'T. I don't have any of those traits; the closest I come is being able to have a phantom projection of breasts and such, of the appropriate anatomy feeling like it's already there. But aside from that, they're nonexistent.
...Yet dysphoria isn't my issue right now. It adds fuel to the existing flame. I've been having it bad, sure, yeah, but it's only worsening the already-existing problem; the illusion that I'm in any way shape or form an okay person is shattering into a million pieces no thanks to the depression.
I am not a good person.
I am a toxic leech. I suck people dry, until they just accept that this is the way I am. I beat them into submission, to following my will, just so that I can live my self-centered self-destructive lifestyle with a semblance of being carefree. I sap from people and give them nothing in return.
At every stage, I manipulate people. Every turn, I control them. I get them to do what I want, and get them to not cause me to do anything I don't want to do. I'm hostile, volatile, uncaring, unsympathetic, and unapologetic about all these traits to boot. And more. I'm not a liar, not deliberately anyway (I fully admit that I lie to myself all the time, of which I only realize about half are lies, and pretend I didn't because it's easier to think I told the truth), but there's often the feeling of being intellectually dishonest, misleading people deliberately.
I objectively know that it's not all bad. That I have genuinely done some good on occasion. That I have, legitimately, helped to enrich some peoples' lives--but it's incredibly difficult in my depression to not see it through the self-inflicted lens of absolute selfishness. All those times that I helped others, all those times that I did good?
They weren't from altruism, they weren't out of the goodness of my heart, because it was the right thing to do. I wanted to get something out of it, and almost always did. I've improved some peoples' lives, sure, but even when doing so...
...Usually the method I used was highly, highly manipulative.
Maybe not consciously, which is arguably even worse. I manipulated people into having better lives by manipulation, and the thought that it was so easy and so subconscious is worse, because it speaks to my character that I was able to pull off the manipulation flawlessly without even thinking about manipulating them.
So all in all.
Right now I feel like I'm just...a toxic person.
I've always known that I'm a toxic person.
But I'm feeling it now.
Just...full of that self-loathing, and the thought of me disappearing making no negative difference in the world right now.
Don't get worried about me being suicidal, this is a distinctly different thought process than that.
But given how much I take.
And how little I give back.
It's hard not to venture down that road.