Citing the fact that having another spoonful or two wasn't going to make much of a difference at this point anyway, a crippling bout of clinical depression reported Tuesday there was definitely still some Nutella left in that jar. According to the cluster of symptoms relating to persistent anxiety and low self-esteem, it looks as if there's a little left on the lid as well. 'No need to let perfectly good Nutella go to waste, and God knows you've already plowed through almost an entire jar of this junk like some sort of pathetic animal,' said what has been classified by doctors as a chronic major depression, adding that the chocolate-hazelnut spread was delicious and 'the only thing that makes the pain go away.' 'Why the hell not, right? After all, what's the point of stopping now?' Added the severely under-medicated syndrome, 'What's the point of anything, really?' After determining decisively there was, in fact, still a little Nutella left in the jar, the steadily worsening psychiatric mood disorder deliberated momentarily before deciding the best course of action would be to just stick a couple of fingers in there and scoop it out that way, 'because fuck it.' The recurrent lowered levels of serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine that were passed down through genetic inheritance then paused and spent approximately three and a half minutes wondering what the hell could possibly be gained from this endless cycle of self-pity, and how a human being could be so worthless and bereft of dignity as to eat an entire jar of Nutella in one sitting. 'What an absolute waste of spaceI suppose a three-hour nap in the middle of a goddamned Tuesday is in order next, eh?' remarked the depressive mind-state, mere seconds away from simultaneously triggering the biological mechanisms for panic and tear production. 'Sure, go ahead. It's not like anyone cares what you dothey all hate you anyway.' As the last of the Nutella spread was procured from the bottom of the jar, the affective disorder announced that perhaps 'disappearing forever' would be the best course of action at this point, reasoning that life wasn't going to get any better anyway, and that the essential hopelessness of existence was, at press time, undeniable. The chronic condition then expressed deep, overwhelming shame and self-hatred over the spoon having been clumsily knocked onto the floor. 'Okay, okay, pull it together,' said the mental illness, responding to increased oxygen in the bloodstream while repeatedly emphasizing in a dead monotone that 'it's not about the spoon.' 'Things have been bad before, and they've always gotten better, right? It's all about mind over matter. So what if life is sad? Fucking get over it like everyone else does and stop being a pussy.' 'Justdon't be this way,' continued the neurosis, again triggering the process of tear production. 'Feel better now. Please just feel better.' Sources reported the multi-symptom clinical state then recommended checking the Nutella jar one more time to see if there was anything left in there. 