I don't know when all my troubles started. Maybe back in college when we had to read all those gloomy poets, like Keats' "When I have fears that I may cease to be/Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain...."   Funny, I began having the same fears. But I never had a teeming brain....whoa, something's just happened.  A neuron just fired. That's rare for me. Happens about once a week.
I think that reading all those Existentialists had something to do with my human condition too. They made me feel socially insecure. They gave me poor self esteem.  They even made me feel, well, contingent.
Boredom set in.  I'd look out my window and say, "How can anybody be bored!  Look at all God did for you!  The trees are green, the flowers are budding, the birds are singing!  The sun is shining! How can anyone look at all that and feel bored!" But I kept feeling like, to paraphrase the lines of a Samuel Beckett play, I feel like all the lights of the whole world have gone out.  But I can't remember when it was ever lit.
'Tried writing a couple of mystery novels. I would faithfully carry them to the post office and submit them to publishers. But by the time I walked back home, the mailman would be at my door sending them right back!  So I'm in this abject despair and pessimism state, see. I have no one to turn to but my  parish priest! But why mess up the man's mind? I thought I'd better do a homepage instead.