OTHER - I've been battling near constant, hopeless depression for a few months now. It's trending toward get...

I've been battling near constant, hopeless depression for a few months now. It's trending toward getting better. Probably because my doctor doubles my meds, and I guess those are slowly going into full effect. But I still hate midday. I can usually find a certain amount of optimism in the morning, especially if I watch the sun coming in my window in that especially golden hue it takes on around 8 AM. Then, later in the evening I can usually find some motivation to do something. But around 11AM to 3 PM, that's when I mostly just wish I was dead. I'm not exaggerating for effect when I say that. I sincerely wish I'd go to a doctor and he'd tell me I had some kind of cancer, and this whole thing would be over in just a few months without treatment. I would refuse treatment. I wouldn't tell anybody. I wouldn't want anybody trying to change my mind or get court orders. In fact, I may officially convert to some religion that forbids all intelligent medical treatments, like...I wanna say Christian Science (but I'd have to research that). I'll convert to something where you are only allowed to pray your cancer away---something protected by law. I think if I knew I only had a few months to live I might even enjoy the ride. It's the constant, nagging need to plan for the future and work and maintain for the future that I hate. If I had no future, I'd be happy with that. In the Bible, Jesus makes this absurd promise that God provides. Look at the flowers. They don't toil, but God provides for them. It's complete bullshit. What is Jesus even talking about? Why didn't anybody call him out on that bullshit right then and there? "Oh, I can just sit in a field and God will deliver food to me? Let's try that now..." Even in the mornings and evenings when I (sometimes) feel more motivated, it doesn't really change the underlying desire for all of this to end. I temporarily feel a little better. In those moments I don't feel an acute, urgent desire to go to a cheap motel and get it over with myself. But the feeling is still there, just barely under the surface. I wonder what would happen if I always did live as if I knew I had terminal cancer. Some (young and stupid) people talk like that: life each day as if it's your last. You know: people who never had to pay their own rent. I guess if I did that, eventually I'd be homeless. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. It's not like conventional American life is such a treat.