Do you ever just feel like its all come to a halt? That there’s nothing left? You just stay inside, wearing only your underwear. You don’t go out. If you do, you’re putting on an act just to get you through the awkwardness of pretending that this life is actually worth living. You read books, that’s productive, right? Take note of another quote by another profound literary genius, which you’ll never be. You go through the motions, go with the flow, go in and out like a tide, go nowhere. You’re stagnant. Nothing that was matters now, none of it. And looking forward, nothing from this point will ever hold meaning either. And it is all so empty, so pointless. This is depression, they will tell you. This is a disease, take this, it will help. Happiness is a choice, they’ll chime in. This isn’t a f****** disease, this is the realization that everything is meaningless. This is the ugly truth. This is life. This is it.