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You sit there stoicly until the days drone into nights and the nights into days,  You no longer have the energy to pull yourself off the couch and do anything more than use the bathroom and pull another bottle from your ample supply.   Periodically someone calls or bangs on the door but the visits become fewer and less frequent.  You've really lost any and all interest in having contact with anything except the lip of this glass bottle.  Every couple of days a familiar voice screams a muffled plea through the door, but you are too intoxicated by alcohol and depression to answer the door.  As the days and weeks drone on, you recognize the gruff voice of your apartment manager screaming obsenities at you through the locked entry.  Whereas there may have been a glimmer of desire to answer the door for your friends or family, you certainly have no desire to talk to that guy.  

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