An empty room answers.

When do we know that we've hit bottom?
How low can things get in the world before it's ok to give up?
Do you want to climb out this time? Or just stay here, there's some comfort in misery, and it's such a long way back up.
When do people start to care? It's not a cry for help, it's a scream from the bottom of a very deep well. It may be faint, but you hear it. Does anyone reach down anymore? I know I have to save myself, but I'm not sure what I'm saving for... What's even up there worth the climb? If the world keeps spinning, barely notices I've been removed... Why bother?
It's dark, and quiet. Somehow it's sad that I'm not the sickest person here. It's infectious, the darkness in a soul can spread and latch on to others. I may not even be here if misery didn't love company. Even insanity can't properly be gauged without a test group. A comparison to healthy living... The sterile, white, plastic life you see on television. Well, I'd like to try my lines again. Can I get another take? I'd certainly leave this scene on the cutting room floor. There were some great moments, but no one realizes it until it's over. Happiness is in the rear-view, so what lies ahead?
A lifetime of fucking things up, fixed, in one determined flash.
It replays in my head, like some 8mm projection against the wall. There are light leaks and dust, but it's still there, preserved in memory.
When do I lay back, let the waves envelop? Let depression and sickness win? I don't have the strength to try again, and if there's nothing left, why am I here?
An empty room answers.