I went out to a house party on Friday. It was lovely to get out of the house, it was a great party, it was . . . nothing. I didn’t feel anything about it at all. I was just numb.
I don’t really enjoy going out any more. I don’t actually not enjoy it. I just don’t feel anything.
I think this might be another bad sign. Not enjoying things has never been a good thing in the past – it’s part of the creeping depression making its way in.
I don’t know whether I should keep trying to go out and enjoy myself, or whether I should stay in bed with a chocolate peanut butter mug cake like I want to most of the time. Going anywhere takes spoonfuls of energy that I just don’t have – I’ve been in bed for the majority of the weekend after going out.
Going out in the day time takes less effort, and is less draining, but that’s not really an option for most people that I might like to see, and it’s definitely not a time when gatherings of people I like tend to occur. And really, it still takes energy that I don’t have, it just doesn’t deprive me of the sleep I need to function.
The way I feel at the moment, if I never left the house except when I really wanted to I would be happy. No appointments, no social occasions, no visits, maybe the occasional lunch out or coffee, maybe then I might feel better. Enjoy myself more.
Who am I kidding? I’ll feel empty and nothingness until my brain chemistry says otherwise. I’ll be tired and unable to function well until further notice.