A year ago, I went back to stay with my (then) girlfriend in the US for two months. Our relationship had been crumbling for awhile but ultimately it was there and with her that I’d been the happiest in my life, and my depression was spiralling out of control.
So I went back, and did all the things that made me so happy before.
Only this time, I didn’t feel a thing.
I remember laying with her in bed, once the most satisfying and amazing feeling ever, and being frustrated that I wasn’t feeling the same way. We went to NYC and beyond a bunch times and saw amazing things, expensive things and I didn’t feel the blissful joy I used to. I was numb.
To put it another way, if the good feelings used to be the equivalent of lying naked entangled with your loved one after amazing sex, they were now holding hands in thick gloves outdoors in the middle of freezing winter. There’s a little something there, but it’s not the feeling I used to have.
And all the bad feelings I was experiencing every day were as crystal clear and sharp as ever.
And worse, she could tell and was afraid she was losing me. And she was trying so hard. And that broke my heart and I didn’t know what to do but try to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault.
We broke up not long after I got back to England.
She’d be absolutely horrified to know the highlight of my life now is drunkenly making out with some guy I barely know in an underpass right before he snorts coke, or being slightly too close to a girl half my age and risking destroying her new family if I step an inch too far.
There is no light on the dark side of me.