Many people have trouble expressing how they feel. I have the opposite problem; I have trouble keeping what I feel inside. If you get to know this blog, you will know me better than people who see me everyday. I don't post as much as many, but everything I post really means something to me, a little sliver of who I am. I'm a passive conversationalist; I listen more than I talk. But I put all of myself into what I write. Oh, and, for what it's worth, I'm so much INFP it's like the description was written specifically for me. Please ask anything you like.
I miss everything. I miss talking to her, hearing about her day. I miss her voice all gravelly and smoky, I miss hearing her laugh, I miss getting her letters, writing her letters. I miss her eyes, and the smell of her hair, and the way her breath tasted. I fucking miss everything. I miss knowing she was around, because it helped me to know that she was around, someone like her existed. I guess most of all, I miss knowing I would see her again. I always thought I’d see her again.
What’s anhedonia? you ask. If you’re depressed, you know.
ANHEDONIA : a psychological condition characterized by inability to experience pleasure in normally pleasurable acts
Anhedonia is one of the main symptoms of major depressive disorder (MDD). It is the loss of interest in previously rewarding or enjoyable activities. People suffering from clinical depression lose interest in hobbies, friends, work—even food and sex. It’s as if the brain’s pleasure circuits shut down or short out—but do they? Some experts define hedonic function as the total amount of pleasure that it’s possible to gain from a single activity. Perhaps depression reduces that hedonic capacity. Certainly, as I report in Brain Sense, we know that the brain’s pleasure circuits can be modified—for example from a deep aversion to salty taste to a real orgasm of salt pleasure.
Just realizing, and accepting, this about myself. It’s not a good feeling. I’ve traveled a lot, different countries, all states except Alaska and Hawaii, and, after growing up in Alabama, I always thought I would feel more at home somewhere else. I would get somewhere, like it, but, after a while, feel no better there than anywhere else I had been. I was sure making a life in Oregon would be for me, more progressive than Alabama, more open minds, but, after three months, I feel no better than I did in Alabama. Yes, wherever you go, there you are…you can’t escape yourself. But to finally realize it doesn’t matter where you go, or what you do, you won’t feel at home or be happy anywhere, is very darkening. Why keep going, after a lifetime of trying, if you see you’ll never really be happy, always a little too pensive, never in the moment, no matter what you try?
I like cancelled plans. And empty bookstores. I like rainy days and thunderstorms. And quiet coffee shops. I like messy beds and over-worn pajamas. Most of all, I like the small joys that a simple life brings.