I remember the last time I felt excited about something — it wasn’t long ago, but it didn’t last. Before that, I assume the last time I felt excited about something was when I was with J. That’s also the last time I felt joy. In my regular day-to-day life there’s no joy, no excitement, nothing I’m looking forward to. I haven’t left the house in a month and I don’t really care to. Leaving the house means going through the motions and I’m tired of going through the motions. I’m tired of pretending to give a shit about things that normal people find important or fun or…significant. The best I can do most days is survive.
