Some comfort in depression?

I can't help but feel as if I enjoy being depressed. I enjoy hating myself and thinking about killing myself... because, well, at the same time it dulls reality down (like a drug). Your responsibilities are further pushed away and you can justify it with depression. Maybe I enjoy this misery, maybe because I am lost and confused with life, being depressed justifies all my inaction.

But maybe not. I don't know. That's not exactly what I feel all the time but I can't help but think that at times. Thoughts?