I don't like it

Ever since I was little— since cognitive awareness? —I've felt... bored. First it was "discomfort", then "boredom". Recently I think a good word would be ennui? A persisting ennui. With a dash of restlessness. It wasn't noticeable at first— I'd say not much is, as a kid —but with increased anxiety and pubescent depression and all the consequences that arise from it, I've realized that what I'm feeling wasn't all that new. Just, /bigger/ than it was in childhood.

I remember being alone (it was especially palpable when I was alone) in the empty church, empty classroom; while playing, just taking a walk; during car rides; and feeling so mind-numbingly /bored/. Just /desperate/ for something to grab and keep my attention. Like, almost to the point of panic. Utterly dissatisfied with what I now call the "lulls" of existence. Sometimes near (despairing) tears at the yawning emptiness. I don't like it. And now with no school or work to help distract myself from this part of me, and depression stealing much of my joys, the dissatisfaction has begun to outweigh most everything else. I don't like it.

Conversely, being with other people has always made me anxious (socially, as well as plain restless) and intimidated. And yes, often bored, still. I really can't win.

I'm really just rather tired of having to justify my being here to myself. I tried to tell my parents, trying to explain my depressed mind, the restlessness that has gotten worse during "lulls", but I don't think they get it. Boredom on an existential scale?? I don't think I get it much either. All I know is that it hurts; my skull and thorax feel like they're cracked; gaping. It's in my marrow. In my blood vessels. It burns. It aches. It's chilling. It's so uncomfortable. I'm tired; I wish I could tell someone how tired I was; tell them and not be ignored or mocked or condescended to or prayed at. I don't like it. I never liked it here.