I have never felt more uninspired in my life. I don’t look around and think, Wow, if you really think about it, everything is beautiful. I get distracted, I miss deadlines, I stay in bed. I don’t write stories anymore and I don’t go on dates with myself alone in the woods or at a coffee shop.

Everything feels foggy, like the morning after a night of getting high. I haven’t known that feeling for real in a very long time, but it feels like I’m always so groggy and out of my mind that I’d never know the difference.

Sometimes I write bad poetry, show up late for appointments, and wear all gray or my most faded old flannel shirts. Things were getting better for me for a while, but now I’m back to listening to exclusively OK Computer and I know I’m not OK.

I pace around my room for hours and rock in the corner in a little ball, disappearing into the line where the two walls meet. I will fit inside that line, make myself invisible. I will become the corner.

I don’t read books, I don’t write stories. I don’t watch TV or talk to my friends, the number of which is steadily decreasing. I don’t go to school or have an outside job, I don’t play music or listen to much. I watch analog clocks and twist the cord on my headphones to distort the sound.

I don’t reply to texts, and sometimes I cry without frowning. Tears will just sort of form and fall without a sound or a trace other than wetness on my cheeks. ♦