Nothing interested me today. I spent the weekend at my mom’s house down in Southwest Texas and really didn’t feel like coming back. Ever. I wanted to throw in the towel, toss my hands in the air, and dance around in circles yelling about how few the number of fucks were that I gave. Sadly, I’m responsible. Mom says she’s not sure where I got that gene, but I know that I have worked hard to cultivate it. I drove the three hours back up to the Woodlands to hit up work, then I even hit the gym. And the whole time, I was staring blankly at objects that made me feel empty. My student’s house — a three story family home with multiple living rooms and enough family to fill it. My exercise bike — with it’s annoying, green, blinking screen and the half-assed clicking of the pedals hitting metal as my feet pressed them with no interest and even less energy. My car — constantly needing to be filled with gas, when it seemed I was going nowhere. My hands — with my phone filling them, staring at the black screen, then putting it down in disinterest, and picking it back up again because it’s habit. I’ve hit a wall of depression and I’m scared. It’s been about eight months since I’ve truly struggled with this. What changed? What’s new? Perhaps it’s the stress, weighing me down like someone’s crouched on my shoulders. Or the impending move back to Alaska causing the worry that doesn’t seem to leave my forehead. Or this emptiness I feel when I talk to God, like He’s not listening. I know He is — I know He cares. But I can’t feel it right now. Seems like I’m having a hard time feeling anything. What’s wrong with me?