Nothing Moves Me Anymore

I tried to go out tonight. I went to the venue, walked in, did one circle and walked straight back out again. This was a repeat of Thanksgiving. I walked into the party, attempted to converse then stood in the bathroom, panicking, and practically ran out of the house crying (I was on a mind-altering substance-but the substance really just served to dramatize what I already felt.) I haven’t been able to drag myself out of the house past 7pm for many days despite fun, festive shows and gatherings of friends. It’s such a familiar feeling to me - a profound listlessness, ennui to the extreme, twinged with the acute melancholic knowing that I’m going to die one day and I will probably regret these long spells of time alone, outside of the company of my fellow man. I do at least prefer the melancholy to the slack-jawed, blank-faced stare into the abyss of another empty dinner bowl. The sadness means feeling is returning to me and the specter of my own death taunts me forth toward a gallant, if unnoticed, return to the living.