My journal was mostly blank. I wrote only about how I had nothing to write about. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt any emotion in its extreme. How can you feel anything when every day is the same? I felt nothing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried or laughed or got steaming mad. It almost got to the point where I’d forgotten what these felt like. Give me anger and give me tears, but never this blank nothingness, this gnawing neutrality.
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