Depression and Lack of Want, Desire
Ah depression. Sucking, vaporizing, numbing black hole. A void where feeling used to be.
Last night I went out on a date. It was a girl I had connected with through a site online. Lovely girl. Smiling. Happy. There’s a picture of her taking another girl’s bikini top off with her teeth. Playful happiness.
And in person, she was, in fact, happy. Enthralled and entertained by me. She wanted to hear story after story. Captivated. Charmed. Her gaze burned into my flesh.
Most Notable Feeling in Depression is Nothingness. A Lack of Want.
And I’m a depressed girl. I felt, nothing. Nothing. I had gone out determined to hunt a female. But. I couldn’t. Sure, part of that might have been the girl in particular, but it’s mostly me. Mostly bipolar, depressed, lack of feeling, lack of want me. I just don’t feel anything about, well, anything. (Except tired. I am tired.)
I’m tired. All the time. I never want to leave the house. Ever. Leaving the house just feels like something jagged on my list of things to do. So yes. Even going to meet a girl and bat my eyelashes and be witty is annoying and something I don’t want to do. Yes, it’s unbearably sad that depression makes beautiful women undesirable. It’s unfair to everyone involved.
Faking Happiness Isn’t Faking Want
I can fake happy. Really well. I’m a depressed girl with so many years of practice. I wonder if I came out of the womb with a fake smile plastered on my baby face. And sure, charm and wit and intrigue are all part of the illusion. Even exhausted and beaten and sad, still, I can fake happy.
But want? Meh. Want requires action. I’m really good at manipulating my face and my voice to deny depression, to smudge depression, to shade depression, but actually bothering with movement, apparently, crosses my line into impossible. It’s over my personal lying quotient. I’m tired. I can’t fucking fake anything more.
Why Would a Depressed Person Without Want Go On a Date?
So why did depressed me go in the first place? Well, I know I’m lonely. I know I like having orgasms. Dating someone seemed to address both those things at once. I don’t really want to date, per se. It just makes sense. It fills an apparent gap. And when don’t people tell you to get out and meet people? I mean really. [pull]Everyone knows that being alone is bad and being together is good.[/pull]
And I’m not saying that having someone here, and someone to talk to, and someone to undress wouldn’t be lovely, because I’m sure it would; I just can’t find the want. I don’t know where want lives. But not in heads with depression. Not in my sad girl head. Not here.