miserable life

I do not have much to say, and this is not a problem. I started with a panic attack that lasted for hours. This is also not a problem. I have used these terrible minutes and all the questions that raise the severity of my existential crises. I do not have any goal, hope or even a little passion, because everything is worthless in my opinion and it is worthless. This is not a problem for me either, but I do not know why this bothers everyone around me. I do not know why they insist on changing my black ideas. Give advice that I never asked anyone. I do not know how enormous this audacity is that drives the world to squeeze its nose even in my feelings.