I realize that life is a constant series of disappointments, crushing defeats, petty revenges, upheavals and routs, loathed outcomes manifested, horrifying choices, antagonism and misery, lonely torment, anxiety and despair, a despondent sorrow that cannot break. Life is the darkness that only death itself can quench. The pain of existing outweighs the anguish of angst-ridden desolation in all ways.
“It is best never to have been born. But who among us is so lucky? One in a million, perhaps.”
(I saw that in an H. Allen Smith book once, attributed to one Alfred C. Polgar.)
You left out ‘Food Insecurity’.