Thanks for the thoughts, Warbler.
Therapy costs money, and if I had a job I wouldn't be as depressed as I am now.

Laziness is also a great part of the picture, and together with depression it forms a never-ending snake, eating its tail forever.

The trouble with losing grandma isn't merely losing a loved one, for me. I was actually well prepared, since the old lady was 92 years old, and with a bad heart, which is what gave up at the end. No, what eats me from the inside is the guilt, in knowing I could have visited. It was only a five minute drive from my house to the old folk's home, but I seldom went there. It pained me to see her like that, and so I avoided going there on Sundays. My parents had been there last sunday, like they always did. Not me. I never got to say goodbye. And I never will.

It's a similar situation to what happened a few years ago, my other grandpa had suddenly gotten ill and had been taken to the hospital, and I distinctly remember having my last chance, to go in that hospital room and saying goodbye, and I didn't go in. I chickened out. I never got to say goodbye to him either.

These are two black marks I will carry inside me for the rest of my life. They will never go away.