laconic | sᴀᴛᴏsᴇʀᴇ

36. 》》 Anhedonia

❝ (n.) The loss of interest and enjoyment in all activities that you once liked; the feeling of not caring anymore.❞

The tangled locks of my hair made my scalp ache as I harshly ran a comb through them-something that I hadn't bothered to do since weeks now.

I forgot to wash my hair at oftentimes these days, so it wasn't out of the ordinary to see them falling out in clutsters on my bed everyday. And if only it wasn't for the weekend to end, even the thought of brushing them didn't linger in my head anymore.

In front of the washroom mirror stood a Serena that I, myself wasn't sure was actually a reflection of mine. I didn't even care to chop my bangs like I did every week in order to keep them from overgrowing and block my eyesight, the strands were now like thin curtains that concealed my always-bloated eyes from everyone.

I tied my hair in a low ponytail when realizing that it was manually impossible to sort them out, Spoiler alert: my room as well as my life was about a triple times more chaotic and I wasn't even a tad bit apologetic about it.

The Christmas holidays went on with me under the heavy blankets of my bed, dampening them with tears each night as I overthought about that day again and again - like it was all my namesake life was qualified to do, all that my scarcely beating heart had the reason to live for. And that continued for two weeks straight.

I remember sleeplessly dragging myself to the mansion the Christmas eve - there was nowhere else I had the nerve to go, dorms meant trouble in capital Times New Roman letters because I knew the girls would diffuse their barrages of questions the second I'd walk in, and I certainly wasn't in a willpower to explain a thing back then.

I had my heart broken, broken with such a brutal level of force that even the reverberations screeched loud across the walls of my room that keep on caving in day by day, guilts whispered murders in my ears and doubled the ache in my chest with every word spoken.

Mom was worried sick when she had witnessed me at the doorstep at one that night, she had ushered me in and that was when I lost myself, I broke down in a puddle of tears on her shoulders and fell asleep at the couch itself, with her fingers in my hair that had dampened from the snow.

The storm was a monster that night, leaving our garden cloaked in a sheet of snow two feet thick - a sudden resilience in the weather which somehow matched my emotions.

Mom had also given me the milestone liberty to take a sip from her darling bottle of red wine, beaming as she said, 'Sometimes bitterness is the only weapon to cut out the pain'. And after a lot of refusals, I tried it, and not gonna lie, didn't like the taste at all. I think it's still a wonder how people could develop an addiction for such a beverage when in reality it was, I'd say - overrated. Yeah. Don't do wine kids.

Daylight was beginning to stay longer as months speeded towards spring, the climate had become suitable enough to just put on a layer of sweatshirt and I was glad, glad that winters were getting over. I didn't really have a pleasant time this year.