Unhappy

I am very unhappy. I hate operating in this meaningless existance. There's nothing I can do to help it. I know that even a change of scenery wouldn't help. I'd be unhappy anywhere, it's my way. I honestly can't remember when I was last truly happy. I'm sure it really doesn't help that I'm prone to spontaneous depressions, as is my mother. Hopefully I can fend off the rest of her mental problems. I just wish there was more to my life. Everything I do has no purpose, no meaning. I still desperately seek a meaningful reality. When I was talking to L. all those weeks ago, I felt as if I could see the whole picture, the entire web of human folly and greatness. I saw it, felt it. Something about talking with him is so illuminating, and amazing. Transcendant. That's how he makes me feel. And I know I'll never see him again. It's his way. He dissappears from time to time, retreats into himself. I envy that sometimes.