I remember standing there — that gymnasium, a cacophony of adolescent enthusiasm, the collective effervescence. I was 16, maybe 17. The cheerleaders, the principal shouting platitudes, a roar of approval... and me, utterly disassociated, a spectator in my own life. It wasn't apathy, not exactly. More like a profound anhedonia, a deep deficit in my capacity for joy, even then. I just couldn't *feel* it, that shared exuberance. Still can't, sometimes, when I'm chasing down a payment for some freelance gig, watching younger people celebrate their stability. It's a familiar feeling, a kind of internal exile.