When I try to sleep at night, my breathing seems light, like it’s not filling my lungs with the oxygen they need. My heartbeat seems faint, like it might stop at any time. My mind seems slow, as if my neurons are degenerating and I’m drifting into a painless death. I’ve finally emptied out. I’ve Forrest Gumped myself. I am truly in anhedonia—if not in a void beyond it.
