Should we be blasé about being bonkers?

I am 17 years old and utterly cray(zee). Most people have a brush with insanity at some point in their lifetime. Apparently one-in-four adults will suffer a mild mental illness during the next year. But I am slap bang in the middle in a full-on, no holds barred fist fight with depression. And it's tough. There are days where I find myself clinging to life like that squirrel 'Scrat' in Ice Age who fights an avalanche to keep hold of his precious acorn. But most days I wake up and wish I had never woken. Most days I look at the world and wonder why in God's name people bother carrying on with their lives when there just seems to be no meaning or purpose other than grow old, to die and then to find out if Richard Dawkins, Jesus, or Buddha was right about life after death, or the lack thereof. It's at times like these that I struggle to remind myself that the greatest philosophers, theologians and scientists in history have grappled with the question, 'What is the meaning of life?' since before Archimedes ran down the street naked screaming 'Ureka!' in the third century BCE, and so one can hardly expect a 17 year old, mentally unstable girl to be able to figure it out alone. But when I can laugh, or mock myself, I do. And you, lucky peruser of blogspot, can join me in the lawls that keep me living despite wishing that my parents had learnt how to use contraception prior to my own conception. And just in case you don't believe my insanity, here are some pictures to prove it:

In my onesie, at a train station, on the floor. Casj.

Cider with a straw. Dis is classy timez we live in.