Don't judge me. It's my nature to do that. Don't judge me for judging you. It's my nature to do THAT. Judge not lest ye be judged. Judge not and be judged anyway. Judge and also escape judgment.
What does it mean when I'm not impressed? With much of anything? Even though I know it's all miraculous, from the big bang to this little niche of the universe, objectively a miracle, a nothing-something transformation. But it's painful to even hear about anyone's success, even someone I don't know. Maybe it means I don't do so well on antidepressants, but markedly worse after reducing the dose.
It's hard to find words for this new even flatter plane and how it's painful to describe mundane things and how shrink wrapped routines have turned out to be the lesser evil and a leaking serotonin bucket is a subtle but physical ache. Those sly emotions, the overlapping outcrops of the body's chemical tides. Biding my time, actually wasting it, until tragedy shakes me out of the static malaise... No tragedy yet, only mundane half-medicated fifty milligram melancholy.