On Anhedonia and Apathy
April 18, 2011 § Leave a comment
I’ve looked for meaning in so many places. And I know that one can’t expect to find something one really needs to make instead. But looking is so much easier. And the acknowledged futility of the search makes it easier for those of us prone to melancholy and ennui to wallow. Which is our favorite thing to do.
Don’t worry, I tell my friends, I don’t take my depression seriously.
The truth is that I don’t experience joy. The truth is that when someone tells me they’ve had a really good day I fundamentally cannot comprehend what they might mean. I experience urges that need slaked and that is all. I do not yet know if I mind, or if there is even an alternative, which would have a very big impact on whether or not I should go about worrying whether I mind feeling this way or not, now wouldn’t it.
It’s funny that depression sometimes seems to make time go faster. Not while it’s happening, perhaps, but when one looks back. So many years that seem without memories, as if they were swallowed up in a black hole while you couldn’t get yourself out of bed. Or in bed. Or both. Of course, depression is often correlated with a certain amount of stagnation, both within and without the body, and, given what we know about relativity and whatnot, this motionlessness will indeed cause time to seem to move at a more rapid pace. So perhaps there is some sort of scientific truth there. Or something.
Light is a tricky bastard.
I have a disease. Or so they tell me. And it is true that it is killing me and it is true that it is painful. And on Sunday nights when I am lonely but can’t imagine being with anyone else and I’m trying to find the right Miles Davis record and the right amount of drunk and the right amount of dimmed lighting and the right amount of porn and the right amount of nostalgia because I’m just trying to get my fucking soul or whatever warmed up a little, I think of all the things I could do to try and heal myself. But I can’t do them. No, that is a question begging sort of thing. Like a deaf man thinking he could heal himself if only he could hear.