You aren't sure when you lost interest in your life. Maybe it was when you graduated high school and realized that your mom and dad weren't going to always pay for your gas and make you Tang when you asked for it. Maybe it was when you were in college and you realized that you were no one if you didn't like to drink. More likely, it could have been after you were diagnosed with something stupid that should be insignificant but has somehow changed your entire life. But you think it was probably after him.
Everyone has a him in their lives. You know this. And you don't like playing the victim, the martyr. But you didn't lose your constant reading, your love for family get-togethers, your passion for music and writing...until after he was done with you. You think of how he would make eye contact with you across a room and mouth the words "Fuck you," then, minutes would pass, and he would mouth tearfully, "I love you." You think of this and you laugh. You remember how he punched his steering so hard it broke, how he said, "You are so lucky that wasn't your face," afterwards. You remember this and you roll your eyes. But thinking of the things he said to you for years after that doesn't make you laugh, or roll your eyes. It just makes you sad. You realize that if you are told you are worthless time and time again, you start to believe it yourself.
You know it wasn't his fault. Even if you know better, you have already forgiven. Just not forgotten. You know it is the chemicals in your brain, some stupid gene you have, that is to blame. You used to care about things. You don't know what happened. You cry for no reason and you tell your husband that you aren't unhappy, exactly, but it is as though there is a film over your life. Like those allergy commercials where the screen is blurred, and then suddenly clear again. But you haven't found that magical cure yet.
Your husband asks, and will ask, time and time again, if he has done something wrong, why you feel this way. You try to tell him that there is no reason - you are simply sad and cannot seem to snap out of it. He tries to understand - he brings you boxes of donuts, new movies that you want to see, puts little notes in your lunch - but he doesn't. You know your life is nearly perfect; you know you couldn't ask for more. Why, then, does there seem to be something in your brain that is switched off? You go to the movies weekly with your husband, you play video games together - you are happy. But when he is gone and you are alone, you have never felt such a crushing helplessness.
There are days you feel you physically cannot get out of bed. Could you be any more of a cliche?
You have been diagnosed in the past, talked to by a psychologist whose face you now cannot recall, but that in your mind looks like a mix between Professor Trelawney and Professor McGonagall. You watch too much Harry Potter. She gave you a bright lamp, telling you to sit in it for an hour each night, especially during the winter - it will improve your moods. You tried it for a few nights but it just makes you nauseous.
You don't understand what you are doing wrong - you're doing the same things you've always done that used to make you happy - you're frustrated that your old tactics are no longer working for you. Your husband is relentlessly hopeful: Try going over to your parents'! Try starting a new television series on Netflix! Try taking a nap? He is sweet, that boy, and you love each other very much, but all you want to do, all you feel you can do, is sit on the couch and stare at the wall.
There is no reason for you to be feeling this way.
You are so lucky.
Stop it. Stop being sad. Stop.
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