self diagnosed clinical depression

I am sitting here at this greyhound station after lugging all my shit from bus to BART and then to greyhound station, only to find that (just my luck) the bus to FRESNO is sold out. sold out? really? how many people need to go to fresno, shithole of the world, on a wednesday night? all befuddlement aside, this implicates that I am now forced to lug all my shit back to the oakland hills for another night and then lug it back to this fucking rehab ward tomorrow, and by "shit" i mean pounds and pounds of luggage strapped to, hanging from, and nearly ripping off every limb of my swaying and bumbling person. so here I am, buried under the luggage at the rehab ward, out of cigarettes, my plan to escape my life completely foiled, and in the process of mustering up the strength to negotiate the four bulging bags of hell back on onto the various parts of my body but first, i have to get something off my chest.
It seems as if the holidays are approaching and of course, "coupling" has ensued full force around me. i, contrarily, have decided in the spirit of the holidays, to sabotage a completely healthy and wonderful relationship, and partake in an emotional land-mine with an already taken boy. I guess I can't really be surprised with myself. All my actions up until this point have been completely impulsive and lacking regard for the future and anyone around me; this simply fits my erratic and unpredictable mold. On the other hand, I don't quite feel myself, and I have to wonder at how interesting it is that for me, self sabotage is the product of a quickly severe drop in self confidence. I now understand what it means to be self destructive and masochistic because I don't believe I deserve anything better. What happened? And why the plunge into sudden self hatred? Well, apparently i do have some semblance of a moral code remaining, despite all previous efforts to annihilate it. Though this deviation from my moral code - let's call it infidelity - has seized me up and pretty much knocked any love that I had for myself right out of me, I quite oddly don't regret it. The fact that I have no wish to take it back but feel so awful as a result of it puzzles and eludes me. And with this hanging over my head like the stench of a dutch-oven fart, I feel unequipped and uninclined to proceed with any real certainty onto the next step of my life. What does this all mean? And why do I feel so paralyzed because of it? If I locked myself up like this in a cell of self loathing every time I made a mistake, surely you would find a 24 year old preschool student still vacuuming her thumb with her mouth right now. But what is so peculiar about this instance? I suppose that deep down, I always considered myself somewhat a person of moral integrity. I might have let people down as a result of my repeated flakyness before, but there was never so irrevocable a break in my moral code committed up until now. I always knew that I was a good person, and now that is questionable at best. I've never felt so empty before...because if you know that you've lost your integrity, then you have nothing...really, nothing. And now I have to figure out how to forgive myself, which, I can't possibly foresee happening anytime soon because I have no idea how a person who has lost their integrity gains it back if they don't truly regret committing whatever it was they committed in the first place.
Truthfully, I almost feel as if I had to do it. I had to, if for nothing else, to play out what had been occurring in my head constantly for months and months. But what would happen to the world if everyone did everything they really wanted to do? Would we really be any happier? Is it worth it? Letting desire eat you until you are completely ensconced by it, or losing something so much more important than a satisfaction to a carnal curiosity (i.e. your self respect). In this case it was much more than carnal curiosity though, it was love, for my part at least. And I suppose that is why I don't regret it. But that doesn't mean that I feel justified, I just know I would do it again if I were in the same position. So where the fuck does that leave me? Oh that's right, nowhere. Still hating myself, yet still not regretting my blunders, and as a result, still condemned to feeling completely empty and paralyzed for the time being until...well, I don't know.