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One of the symptoms of depression is a lack of interest in things once enjoyable. It’s one of the symptoms that’s been fairly consistent in my life. I’ll stop doing things I enjoy because of any number of superficial reasons. At times, I can feel my lack of interest put my whole life into a disinterested haze.

There’s no easy cure. In the past, I’d mix equal parts of blaming myself with distraction from the issues. I don’t like being reminded that I can’t function normally, although to be fair some of that is a problem of perception. All of this has roots in my unhealthy coping mechanisms I learned at an early age.

Despite feeling aimless, I want to remember that my interests existed for a reason. I found something good in them at one point, even if it isn’t something I can enjoy now. People grow and change, and I’m no exception.

Maybe it’s the change I fear the most. Moving around as a kid, I lacked the stability that a lot of kids allegedly need in their lives. As soon as I got used to a place and the people there, I’d have to move. Perhaps I’m just naturally averse to such change, as it reminds me of internalized and invisible wounds.

Regardless, change is not a bad thing. I might wander and have no purpose in the short term, but I’m not lost. That will have to be good enough for now.