Before my depression, there was warmth and curiosity in my personality. When people I cared about told me their stories I listened and felt happy for them. When I saw a family member struggling I would feel compassion for them and I would do what I could to help them.

I seem to have lost this. When someone tells me about themselves or their experiences, I don't care unless it affects me. Their stories are boring to listen to, even the closest life events. Engagements, marriages, accidents, ilness, none of it interests me. I feel extremely guilty over this and it's a big part of my illness. When I speak to someone, I feel intense anxiety and a bit of fear. It feels like the person speaking to me will get upset because I'm not enthustiastic or engaged in the conversation - as if they'll think I don't enjoy spending time with them and thus stop spending time with me. I'm afraid of losing them and being alone.

It's true, though - I don't enjoy spending time with them, which is part of why I feel so horrible in the first place.

I know that the problem is me, not them. My friends and family are fantastic people and we've been very close in the past but when I think about my memories with them I feel nothing. I have avoided them for about 5 years because of this. I'll come to family gatherings when it's unavoidable, like Christmas, but every time I'm asked to come visit someone (or someone asks me if they can visit) I make up excuses.