Two years ago I had hobbies. Things I enjoyed and took pleasure in.
I looked forward to things, new books, new films, new music by my favourite artists.
Then things unravelled.
Dad died. He had vascular dementia and went downhill pretty quickly. The last few months were depressing and I hated seeing this crumbling, stuttering shell instead of the DIY expert, the huge jigsaw fan, the avid stamp collector.
Then Mum committed suicide.
Police on your doorstep at 2.50 in the morning is never a good thing. Both parents gone in eight months. This was December 2014 to August 2015.
And with their passing so did my interests. I lost pleasure in everything. It all became a chore.
I read bits of books, skipping pages through lack of concentration, lack of will power, lack of interest.
I didn’t want to watch a film. I didn’t want to watch anything that was long or required me to concentrate. I got bored and frustrated so quickly.
Music seemed annoying. It was just sound and I had no patience with it. I found songs trite and meaningless, repetitive and an assault on my delicate senses.
Part of this was down to Mum. I couldn’t pick up the phone and talk to her anymore. I couldn’t hear what she thought of music she had heard, of books she had read or what the critics in the papers thought of the latest blockbuster. Everything seemed meaningless and pointless.
And now ?
Now I have no pleasure. I force myself through everything. I try to read, listen to music, watch films, but there’s a hollow feeling inside. I’m just passing time, I’m not living, not enjoying the moment.
I loved to travel. But there is a financial requirement there and it’s one I can’t meet with enough regularity to sustain me. And then, again, the person I talked to about my travels and who I bored rigid with the endless photos, was Mum.
I went to India last October. Loved (I think) the experience of my third trip but the build up, usually so enjoyable, seemed slow torture and the emptiness I felt when I returned, of having nobody to share things with, was profound.
I feel trapped.
But I don’t know by what ?. Grief ?. My lack of talent in something I enjoy (any talent would do) ?. Money ?. My whole damn life ?. All of those, some some of those ?.
I have Anhedonia. It’s been 2 years since my decay began and I have no idea what to do anymore. I have nobody to turn to, nobody to talk it through with..
I have no pleasure in things. No enjoyment. It’s been sucked out of me.
And that sucks!