Thursday, December 17, 2015

The Grinch

I am trying like hell to get in the Christmas spirit. The tree went up right after Thanksgiving. we visited Santa, we made cookies, we decorated the house, a gingerbread house, watched all the classics, Christmas music round the clock. I'm just going through the motions for the kid. He's old enough to get it and be excited. I want him to have a good Christmas and set the foundation for fun traditions.

If I'm honest with myself, every holiday since his dad and I split up has been like this. I just don't give a shit. I go through the motions and do what I need to so that the kid has a good time. There is no feeling behind it for me. I don't need any gifts. I don't care if I wake up to an empty stocking. Usually 4th of July is my favorite holiday but John, alcohol, and my drunk mouth ruined that this year too.

I don't think this is depression? I take my meds, I go to work, everyone is happy and healthy and there is food in the house. I do all the things I'm supposed to do or "like" to do. It's like I've lost my sense of taste, you keep eating to survive, but you don't really care what  you eat. You eat so you'll keep living but you derive no pleasure from it.

I used to easily read 40 books a year. I think I've read 5 this year, maybe 10 last year. I just can't get into anything. I've been listening to podcasts and watching the news more, reading more articles online, so I haven't let my brain completely atrophy. The DVR fills up with the shows I've asked it to tape and used to greedily devour. I just don't care anymore. And I thought, ok maybe this show got boring or that show lost good characters. But has that happened to every show I used to like? Maybe it's just me. I used to love hockey, I haven't watched a game once this season.

I wake up, I go to work, I parent (with varying degrees of success), I go to sleep. Repeat.
I make time for friends. I maintain a relationship. I run errands. I have conversations. I turn the tv on but don't absorb what they say. I am hollow.

I don't think I'm depressed. I'm not really sad. Nothing is wrong with me, my life is as fine as it ever is, little bumps here and there.
I've never been suicidal, but I've periods of life where I didn't want to exist anymore. It's a weird concept for some people to get. I don't want to harm myself. I just wish I never was. I think about not existing, if somehow I disappeared, but it had no impact on my parents or kid or anyone else.

But I don't even feel like that right now. I feel like I'm in a body snatchers movie or something. I see my life unfolding in front of me, I'm sitting in the driver's seat but I can't or won't grip the steering wheel. I guess the most fitting word is ennui. I don't know how to shake it.

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