Living with Anhedonia: A Symptom of Depression

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

As I sit here and write this, I am snacking on a Hot Fudge Sundae. Something I used to deeply enjoy. It's a nostalgic treat for me. Surrounded by memories of drives with my dad, sitting in the Dairy Queen parking lot. We would sit, eat ice cream, and just talk. It was a time for us to bond and reflect. He was the parent I had. My mom wasn’t in the picture. So, those moments were deeply special to me. Now I feel little to no joy eating this sundae. In this moment, I’m just fulfilling a craving.

I’ve struggled with depression most of my adult life. But never like this. I find no enjoyment in anything anymore. Happiness is rare and fleeting. The things I used to love no longer fulfill me. Writing included. It feels like something I should do for myself. So, I do it. As with everything else.

I’ve been working on my mental health for years. Now I’ve hit a different kind of roadblock. The kind that’s left me feeling purposeless, aimless, and dull to life. I sit with myself and exist. That’s as much as I can do. I want to enjoy things but…

…nothing really “hits” anymore.

Don’t get me wrong. I have a good life. Partially because I worked hard for it. But it is still good. I have enough money. People who love me. Time to do the things I want. I have a roof over my head. My needs are provided for.

So why does it all feel so lifeless? So gray.

It’s probably because this is the first time in my life I have real stability. For most of my life, I’ve experienced chaos. High highs and low lows. Now things are as stable as they’ve ever been.

I’ve achieved my main goal. Survive. But I want to thrive. I’m living with anhedonia. Anhedonia is the inability to experience joy or pleasure in the things you once enjoyed. I try to do things to spark joy. But it's just not the same. It feels like my life is stagnant and stoic.

Maybe I’m burned out by life. Maybe this is just another stage of my depression. Maybe this comes with age. I’ve done as much as I can to give myself the best. That’s all I can ask of myself. I tell my therapist, “I’m trying. Isn’t that enough?” And yes, it is enough. Trying again and again is enough. It has to lead somewhere, right?

My hope is that it will lead somewhere fulfilling. I know each day won’t be filled with joy. Such is life. But I’d at least like some consistency. I’d like to feel things again. To feel excitement, happiness, bliss. I’m patient. I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep doing what I need to support myself. To try and spark joy. For now, I’ll accept where I am, and trust life leads me.