You don't want to get out of bed. You don't care to dress. To eat. To open your mouth and say something to those who talk to you. It's just not worth the effort. Whatever color there is has leeched out and it all looks grey, and there is pain in your stomach that can't be there and yet you feel it. It's plenty real. And for no reason you start crying and can't stop, and when asked what's wrong, you can't explain. You don't know. And it doesn't seem to matter to try to understand. What's the point? It's easier to let them roll, the tears. Then when exhausted from crying, it's easier to curl up and maybe fall asleep, if sleep decides to come. It plays the same game as the people around you. It seems to want to extract some kind of a reason out of you, the reason you're so down, before it decides to relieve you.