If you want to know how I feel, most of the time I just feel irritated.
If I drank instant coffee, or took sugar I would, like Prufrock, measure out my life in coffee spoons.
I am like the driver of a runaway train who realises he has lost control, but no longer cares. I observe the screaming passengers impassively, feel the rushing air on my face and raise my arms to the sky. The event horizon approaches, the ultimate quadratic equation, and the numbers finally resolve themselves into an oblivion of zero; substituting life for death.
At last, it will all make sense.