I Survived Three Years Without Joy. This Is What Anhedonia Really Feels Like.

I have been meaning to write a separate blog post about benzodiazepine post-acute withdrawal syndrome. I know I’m mentioning it often enough. But when I try, I find that I have too much to say and not enough at the same time. 

There is not much to be said about a void. The anhedonia is a grey, lifeless fog that covers the landscape of my days from the morning to the sunset and squeezes out every drop of joy, of enthusiasm, of motivation. It is a lack of being. It is emptiness. 

It defines my life now. And I dearly wish for it to end. 

Thankfully, it isn’t the total anhedonia that I had initially. That was even worse, because I didn’t feel anything at all. Not a single drop of emotion. I remember watching a movie with my dad and not understanding why it existed because I didn’t feel a thing while watching it. It turns out you need feelings in order to appreciate art. In this initial phase that lasted about two weeks, I had no feelings. Zero. The only thing that slightly moved me was researching information about the pet rats I was about to get, so that was the only thing I was doing. 

The partial anhedonia is now a bit more merciful. I can feel faint shadows of positive emotions, which is what keeps me afloat. I feel something when I’m reading. I feel something when I’m among people. But it is never enough. 

I feel like I have lost my identity, too. A lot of my self-image was tied to feeling a lot. Without it, I don’t know who I am. I feel that I’m not enough. That I’m just a shadow of who I was. It is almost as bad as the state of not feeling itself, because I feel lacking. Empty. Diminished. 

I would like to date, but I can’t imagine what anyone would see in me in this state. My friends tell me I still have a lot to offer. I try to believe them.

It has been going on for three years now, and every day is torture. Every day, from the morning to the evening, just trying to survive my lack of good emotions. 

Unfortunately, the bad emotions aren’t limited by it. I feel anxiety, panic, and overwhelm as intensely as before. No, the current state of anhedonia is about the lack of good emotions specifically. 

I feel like myself only on the rare days when caffeine works. I feel creative then, energetic. I don’t feel whole, but it is better than the usual everyday slog. 

When I can’t have caffeine, I try to keep busy. I aim to have one activity outside the house, or at least online therapy, a day. A bit of social contact. It doesn’t help me feel, but it helps me to forget. When I’m not aware that I’m not feeling, I’m not suffering. 

Reading fulfills a similar function. I allow myself to read from five PM. I worry that I would lose interest in it if I let myself read more. But oftentimes it is the part of the day I’m looking forward to the most. It helps me pass the time. It helps me stay sane. It makes the time flow a bit more easily. And it helps me to anchor myself to a bit of my old identity, because I have always been a voracious reader. 

When someone asks me about my hobbies, I tell them that I read. I have that much left. Then I talk about my rats. I can always talk about my rats. Fortunately, love is an emotion that isn’t restrained even by anhedonia. 

A bit by bit, from that lifeless fog, I’m trying to piece together something to live for. Something to live through, even if that life is a shadow of what it has been. Something to keep me sane while I’m waiting. 

Waiting, waiting, always waiting for it to pass. It must get better. It surely must get better, because I can’t bear it staying the same. I can’t live like this. Only survive. And only until the time I can feel again. 

If this resonated with you…

I write personal essays about AuDHD, mental health, grief, identity, and figuring out how to live a life that feels like your own.

If you’d like to keep reading, you can join my newsletter and get new essays straight to your inbox.

New subscribers also get a free copy of my AuDHD Survival Guide.