The Unopened Novels on the Kitchen Table

Dear Delyara, There are six novels sitting on my table right now, gifts from friends who know I used to love reading more than anything else in the world. I haven't opened a single one of them. Every time I look at their bright covers, I don't feel curiosity; I just feel an immense, heavy guilt that makes me want to turn away. The depression has turned my brain into dry sand; I can read the same sentence four times straight and none of the words will stick. The loss of your hobbies is the most insidious part of this illness; it systematically strips away the things that make you who you are, leaving you staring at an empty shelf.