Death please

Six years of living here, in a dead end street, which is a very fitting location. This is where driftwood comes to die a slow, horrid death. Tossed aside like waste. Unbelievable how long this period is taking. It goes on and on and on and on, without any of those refreshing moments of peace and contentment like I had last year, when the psycho next door went on holiday for two weeks. Oh to sit in my garden. What bliss. Now all I can do is watch it grow into a jungle. My house is filthy, I am filthy, I feel no desire to clean (that's always first to go), to cook, anything. No improvement whatsoever that I can see. Sludge, muck, mud, tar. Slow, fogged up mind. When I 'wake up' in the morning, it takes hours and hours for my head to clear. It feels like this has been going on forever. I'm scared this will go on forever, what if nothing changes? What if this is where it stops and I never stood a chance of going any further than this? It's all dreams anyway, isn't it. Maybe I'm a common twat. Just an ordinary civilian trying to pretend, pretending to be more, when in fact, there's nothing to show for really. Nothing to prove I'm anything other than completely and utterly ordinary. Lots of day to day fear because of living next to a psycho, nothing comes out of my hands. I'm close to giving up volunteer's work. Empty days, filled with digital words. My life means absolutely nothing at the moment, is worth nothing. I'm just breathing, eating, sleeping, fearing, sludging through the empty meaningless days.
Was it all a ruse? But why then? Why play with my mind like that? Why leave all those promising clues, promises for a better future, promises that all that suffering wouldn't be in vain, but was going to be of good use? What the fuck's that about?
People get up early, in order to experience every minute, every second of every day, they don't want to waste time. I can't waste time enough, whatever gets me to death sooner, without contributing in other more suicidal ways. Getting out of bed at 1pm is fine with me; less day time to struggle through.
If you think about it, waiting for death is all I do. Preferrably death of me first, than some time later death of the body. But yes, I am waiting for Death to take me. Well at least that much is clear. Hurray.
Sinkhole. Quicksand. Garbage disposal. City dump. I'm crap. Tossed aside. Worthless. Worthless life. What a waste of space. Isn't there someone else who wánts to live who can use my time here and live it up? Do something useful with it, or just have brainless fun? I don't even know how to do that. The brain is always on, thinking of problems and possible dangers lurking around the corner. WHY? If dying is the best possible thing that can happen to me. Let me go, just let me go. Please.