Lust for life

Mine has gone. Everything I ever enjoyed doing seems to have lost it's appeal.

Music is bland right now. Nothing piques my interest and what I do listen to is generally on to fill the void of silence and that quiet, nagging voice in the back of my mind. Writing music is even worse. Picking up that guitar and simply nothing at all coming to me, beyond the few standard chord progressions, was one of the most disheartening experience of my life.

Games have just lost appeal to me as well. I can't focus on any video games I'm playing, I just go through the motions that my thumbs have become attuned to over the years, nothing really coming of it.

I have no appetite. Food doesn't appeal to me, even when I'm starving I simply do not want to eat.

My comedy has just gone. Nothing seems funny to me anymore. Sure, I'm still there with a witty remark or a snappy comeback and still play the odd childish prank, but the actual writing and desire to make people laugh has vanished from within me.

I can't even be bothered to blog. She was my muse. It sounds pathetic, I know. I never really thought of such things. I even told her I didn't think she was my muse, that I write and sing and play about what is all around me. But the only times I've written recently have been after talking to her. She got into uni, I was so happy for her, the words just came forth out of nowhere. Now they're gone and I'm just not sure when they'll be back.

I'm not even angry at things anymore. I can't get angry. I can't feel anything. I just throw myself into work and hope to forget, grinding myself down until I'm too exhausted to even care anymore.

My lust for life is gone. I'm not longer inquisitive or excited by anything. This is the saddest part of it all. I wish I could change all of this. Never before have I ever felt so pathetic. Never again will I feel this way, should I ever recover.

So, here I am. Broken and beaten. Moping pathetically. I'm fully aware of it. But what can I do? I can't seem to pull myself out of this rut. No matter how hard I try. Every time I speak to her I feel physically sick. Everything she says makes me weak. I'm throwing myself upon her mercy without her even knowing.

I can't even say anything to her. I'm too much of a coward.

This is goodbye, for now. Maybe I'll find the words that I want to write again in the future. But for now, the inspiration, desire and passion for writing has all but gone.

Sof, you're probably the only person who reads this so I hate to disappoint. Thanks for everything.

Who knows when I'll be back again? I don't.