There are the lows, of course. The panic, the crying, the cutting, the paranoia, the desperation. But in between the lows there is the nothingness, the apathy. There’s a word for it: anhedonia, the inability to feel pleasure from normally pleasurable activities. Woody Allen nearly called Annie Hall Anhedonia. It’s a bastard, that’s for sure. Nothing holds any appeal anymore, everything’s a trial. But when people ask how were your holidays? you’re not supposed to shrug and say not much fun. You have to lie and say how great they were and give examples of all the wonderful things you did. And the worst thing is, you did do those things but all the while you were numb to them, they simply became part of the fog.
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