I should know anytime I put myself out there with some sort of “commitment” of writing something, it’s pretty much a nail in the coffin for whatever bright idea it was I had. 
In this case it was my !new and improved! hard-hitting and edgy! gritty and REAL! recovery blog. My initial idea was to check in on a daily basis for the first year of my recovery and detail every horribly uncomfortable white-knuckle moment with searing truth and RAW, stripped down emotion. 
The only problem is…is that right now, I have no emotion. For the past two weeks I have been as dull and flat as I was when I was an awkward prepubescent. Ok, bad analogy. But flat. Flat is accurate. It’s not even depression, I don’t think. I’m not sad. I just don’t give a shit. About anything.
At least when I was drunk, I felt something…even if it was stupid, and like shit.
I think the term is anhedonia. It would be a pretty name, Anhedonia. But not with my last name. Anhedonia Lee is just stupid. Anyways, it’s sort of like being the walking dead.
It’s the awful kind of grumpy-funk that makes hours of semi-catatonic head-nodding to Foster The People the most thrilling part of of my day. Yes, Foster The People. I know. I should be shot. The Gigamesh mix of that daffy song is pretty festive, I must say. I hope secretly I’m not planning some Virginia Tech kinda freak-out massacre. Nah. I’m just sadly enjoying really really awful music. I am old and way past my peak freshness.
The irony is, that in writing about your inability to experience emotion at the moment, you have made your readers feel something. LIfe’s little twists are pretty fucked up at times, aren’t they?
Wow, thank you
That made my day.