This is the special time of the depressive cycle where I'm spinning downwards into nothingness. It isn't even sadness. It's nothingness.
I feel nothing.
I want nothing.
This morning, I had to force myself to eat breakfast, because I can't be bothered with life right now. I knew I was hungry, but it was a theoretical hunger; some strange sensation that was outside of me, or rather, I was outside of me.
Yesterday morning, I discovered that the five hours of gaming footage I had recorded didn't stick. The programme froze just as it began to export and I lost the lot. I should be very upset about it. It's worth being upset about. Ordinarily, I'd be upset. I couldn't care less.
I have so much work to do, and I just... can't. It's an incredible struggle just to write this blog post. I mean, I will do the work, it'll just be like trying to sprint through waist-high treacle.
It may seem I'm being overly dramatic. I suppose it would be impossible to understand until you've stood on the edge of a vast yawning chasm of... nothing. It's hard to describe just how empty everything is, how empty I am.
It'll pass, of course. It always passes. Still, I'm in this place right now. I should be frustrated. But I'm not. I'm nothing.
Well, I have work I have to at least make an attempt at.