Why life feels like a fever dream?

Just a little vent. I want to get some things off my chest, so read it or don't.

I'm going crazy please help

I don't have any memories of my childhood. It kind of hurts, because they're supposed to be the happiest years someone is supposed to experience. Those years are nonexistent for me.

Life feels so surreal. I become more and more self aware, and it confuses me to no end. When I look back at each day that passed by, I just wonder...was that really me, doing, feeling, and saying those stuff? I don't know who am I. I change each fucking day. And It's frustrating. Or maybe I'm overthinking such trivial things?

And I'm tired as much as I'm confused. Even breathing is like some kind of task for me. Existing is exhausting. I just wish I couldn't feel so much. I feel too much, and people around me think I cry for no reason, and out of nowhere.

But maybe they're right.

...I either know nothing, or I know too much that I'm aware of knowing nothing.

I'm depressed, yes, but I still feel a lot, and it makes everything worse tenfold. I feel guilty that my parents are worried about me bedrotting or barely talking to them, but I can't do anything to fix it. I carry so much guilt for not feeling right in the head. For everything, in short. The most agonizing part is that I'm so tired of doing anything.

It's just that...the line between dream and life is so blurry for me. I'm so confused and I'm losing my sense of self. And yet all these feelings are so human for me. I cherish them even if they hurt. Maybe it's a part of living. But I swear I can't tell if I'm dreaming or I'm in reality. What's 'reality' itself?

I have so much questions about myself and this world that it leaves me with a headache. The more I try to find an answer, the more I'm stuck.

I can't tell if this is me. I don't feel like 'me' anymore. And when I try to look at my memories of past for an answer, I don't remember any.

Sensing is too much. Touching, is too much. Hearing is too much. My soul isn't made for feeling all of these. Sometimes I think that out of my room is pure void. I feel so, so little in this huge world. It scares me....like, what do you mean that there are eight billion people out there with their own unique traits, memories, and experiences?

Eight billion stories to tell? On a floating rock in black pitched void? Oh, sorry if I sounded like an alien.

That was all I had to say. The other things are just too complicated to be written in any form of language.

....I might delete this, or not. I don't know.