For some people, the pain is a thing of the past. There is no longer any pain or at least it isn't what it was previously. All that remains is a lack of anything. You're going to die some time. Everything else is superficial. Your choices are to either strive for medocricy, do the minimum to sustain comfort and wait until it happens on its own or take actions to make it happen sooner.

At this point you don't want to die because of pain, you want to die because you're clinging on to medicocracy and you know things could always get worse. They eventually will.

Not only do you consider yourself a burden on the world, those close to you, and even yourself, but you know you're only one step away from losing whatever you have left to distract you from the realization that you are nothing if you're lucky enough to have a distraction of some form.

People close to you may truly care, but your entire existance makes things harder for them because they care. You want to push them away because then it is easier. They may be sad for a while, but at least they don't have to watch you continue to deteriorate.

You know there's help. You hear things like "people immediately regret suicide attempts" and some amazing recovery stories where people live happy normal lives. Happy, normal, lives. What is happy anyway? What is normal? You think about getting help. About taking action. You know, after all, the disease twists your logic around. You know you're not thinking right. Things have to be able to be better. And then when you attempt to take action, that's when the pain starts back up. Oh the pain, like rediscovering everything that you hated about yourself in the world all over again. Nevermind, getting better feels like getting worse.

A friend of yours dies...you feel sad they aren't there anymore. Is that how people will feel when you go? Well, maybe that's not too bad. They'll get over it, right? Then you start to feel envious of your friend. You have to continue to deal with your body and mind breaking down. All the people you hate but can't get away from. They had an out. They were lucky. Then you start to get jealous of the friend. They wanted to live. Why did they get to go and you're stuck here?

As much as you start to hate everything, you don't want to go to bed. Going to bed means you're that much closer to going through everything again the next day. But you do decide to go to bed. You beg yourself to not make it through the night, as if you could somehow control that. Then you wake up the next morning, still alive. And you hate yourself and the world even more because you made it through the night. And the cycle repeats itself, getting worse and worse, until that's all you can do when you're not distracted.

There's gotta be several different kinds of depression. And some of them at certain levels don't even really factor pain. It is the constant apathy hanging around absolutely everything around you. You really don't care about things, even though you know not caring about them makes things worse. You can't care. You don't have anything else to give.