If that's the way she feels then why doesn't she end it all?

This thing's been bugging me and I've gone on about it a bit-feel free to quit reading if I'm getting boring. I can't afford therapy so I do what I must. It's all a repeat. Luckily it's summer and everything but Rescue Me is in repeats. You want new? Tune to FX on Tuesdays at 9pm.
More and more I am becoming convinced that I actually wasn't particularly aware of anything or experiencing anything since-probably since about Grandma died. And it got worse when school kept getting more awful and the money was so tight. Even when things got better they didn't. GH got diagnosed with a death sentence and passed away. Baxter-the only genuine friend for all those years life-died. Why does it keep bothering me? They're gone and it's got to be better to not exist at all than to live like their lives were at the end. Right? No, I'm really asking.
School became a grudge match. I was only there because I'd be goddamned if I'd be beat. Even when over and over I was knocked half senseles by school I kept going because the other option was to admit I'd made a gigantic mistake. When I admitted I made a mistake-and in case I haven't here:
That Master's Degree from Western Kentucky University in the field of Folk Studies located in the Department of Folk Studies and Anthropology a department headed by Michael Ann Wiliams is the worst mistake of my life. The program is poorly run and costructed. The redeeming qualities do not make up for the damning elements. I'd rather be a charter accountant than a folklorist. I'll work the rest of my life in a mindless drudge office if it keeps me away from ever being associatd with this program. Yes, I know this is all on the Internets. It could very possibly turn up on Google. I could be blacklisted from the American Folklore Society. One can only hope.
If I had it to do over again, even given that I would lose the few really good things (all having to do not with the program but with the people) I would give up those experience to have the last two years of my life back.
I don't know what I'd have done. I think I would still be here-or would have been at least. Because, I moved down here not sure I'd participate in the program. I wanted to live here. The program was an excuse. Two years ago, I needed an excuse. Today, I'd go anywhere on a moment's notice if I thought it would make me happy. But I also am fairly sure that happy is brief and sudden and unexpected and can't be plannd or run to. So there's no real reason to uproot myself as I was so used to doing for so many years. My life was going nowhere-I was in no future territory and if I didn't MAKE a future I might not have the option.
Because I had something that took my energy, my days, forced me to focus on SOMETHING-Even if I didn't give a flying fuck about that something, it was a challenge-I was able to accept that the world I knew was disappearing.
Now that I have no forced focus I am thinking far too much. I wonder how much damage I've done to myself over the last two years. The damage I've done to other people. If I was always this angry but now I can give it a new cause. It's not something that happened when I was 18 or 22 or 12 or whatever. Those are old news-for some time I've had a good, solid, new cause for my tumult. Without that-I'm just weird.
A few days ago my landlady stopped by to tell me that the bug people were stopping by-"In case the little dog (she doesn't know his name, tho I tell her regularly) has fleas, or Baxter did. Poor old Baxter..." Every time she mentions Baxter I want to slap her, she always makes it sound like a half remembered episode of Little House. Not really, emotionally draining, painful lingering bruise. Lose yr dog Old Woman and how 'bout I mention him whenever I see you. It'll be great. We'll reminisce. Oh-I know she's old and crazy-but that doesn't give her the right to talk about my life.
I lie to her. Very well, apparently. She thinks I'm sweet and "smile all the time." A good girl. She trusts me. I honestly believe she honestly believes I don't have any vices worse than candy. Actually, even the candy is debatable.
But then, that's the major 21st century survival mechanism as far as I can tell. Lying. Mostly to ourselves.
Why am I even talking about this? If you've read this far you have to have wondered that by now. The truth is-I don't know. Maybe I'm sad. Not depressed. There's no imaginable circumstance that would cause me to admit to depression as it's a rarely anything but a cry for medication. Or it could be some kind of jealousy for people that coast through life and have the easiest ride imaginable but act like the world owes them a living. Or an explanation. I don't know, not at all.
I've got it good. A great family. A lot of awesome acquaintances and even the certifiable friend or few. I'm unlikely to end up homeless anytime soon. I have Coupland and a good likelihood of going to see Stephen Colbert in a short time. (If I grow some balls and just buy the damn ticket already-tomorrow-maybe tomorrow. The commitment issue is for another rant.) Things are good. If I were more Christian-or for that matter, a Christian I'm on the fence about that-I'd thank God for his goodness. Instead I just think:
Is that all there is?
Then let's keep dancing.