on depression, and losing interest in the things i love

for what it's worth, after i wrote this i played guitar a little

as i write this i’m listening to Sonic Youth’s 1990 album Goo. i haven’t listened to any music in about a week before this. i don’t listen to much music anymore at all. i think the last song i listened to was Hacker by Death Grips. before that, about three weeks ago, i listened to Goo start to finish while i cooked dinner. before that? i don’t know how long it’s been. it was probably also something off Goo. but i always skip the first two tracks on Goo because Tunic makes me cry, because thinking about Karen Carpenter makes me cry. for a more immersive experience, read the rest of this while listening to Goo.

i used to listen to music all the time. if i wasn’t in class, actively talking to someone, or reading, i was listening to music, or sometimes a podcast. many thousands of minutes racked up on my spotify wrapped year by year. i used to play guitar every day when i was in high school, i used to sing every day too. before that, i used to play piano almost every day, and practice flute every day, not just because of concert band, but because i loved playing my flute. i’d learn songs from video game soundtracks, i’d try to reach crazy high notes for fun, i would practice scales and even try to do the really hard parts of the simpsons theme song that my band teacher told us we didn’t really have to do.

listening to music and playing instruments used make me happy, it used to bring me a sense of belonging or accomplishment or understanding. it gave me purpose, it made me feel heard, and it made me feel more connected to my dad and my brother, both of whom are better musicians than i will ever be. but eventually i started playing flute and piano less, then after high school i started playing guitar less, then singing less. i credit my ex with making me hate guitar for a while. wild how one person can ruin something you’ve loved your whole life.