Existentialism.
Don't get me wrong, Men are trash, vile treacherous things that will betray even themselves.a Engineered to want or need women from the day their born. And so from the get go the ball has always been in our court. But we're to busy loathing ourselves and in competition with each other to notice. That discovery and not just the external locus of control has been the source of my many depressions. That all we do on this earth is hurt and be hurt, endure. Tell me what is the meaning of life, How does the caterpillar metamorph if it is constantly in healing? How does the butterfly relish in kissing flowers when it will either pluck it's wings out? It's self or other animals and forces of nature will do it. And that ladies and gentlemen is the struggle of the depressed. Futility. What is the point of trying, if the probability of your efforts being thwarted is identical to you succeeding? The metaphor I like using for my depressions...