Hollow, Weak, and Melancholic

“If you know someone who’s depressed, please resolve never to ask them why. Depression isn’t a straightforward response to a bad situation; depression just is, like the weather.
Try to understand the blackness, lethargy, hopelessness, and loneliness they’re going through. Be there for them when they come through the other side. It’s hard to be a friend to someone who’s depressed, but it is one of the kindest, noblest, and best things you will ever do.”
— Stephen Fry

melancoly_2

Image Source: Edvard Munch: The Frieze of Life.

It is difficult, in fact almost impossible to get out of a bottomless pit of thoughts, analysis, and judgments. You suddenly realise that you are victim of your own thoughts and you will never come out of it. The days followed by nights are just variations of sky, your thoughts are still there, haunting you, demeaning you, and making you hollow, weak, and melancholic.

Contrary, to the popular belief depression has no reason and it is much more than sadness or grief. Depression is a state of mind where you dwell in to the obsession of analysing and thinking, more than normalcy, about a particular incidence, person, or a state of mind which triggered it. It’s a journey with no destination, where you often travel with a hope to get away with darker self but instead, you end up at the start point again. It is a morbius strip on which you walk hoping for an end, end of misery from thoughts, dreaming for a better self and fulfilled dreams but you end up being more miserable in the process, the walk never ends and becomes more exhausting. You run, lose your breath, fight with the demon which grows stronger every time you tried to punch it, it’s your thoughts which are feeding the demon, the thoughts which are not under your control.

Nights are spent in a hope of a better morning and mornings in a hope of better nights, you try to meet new people, connect with the lost one, visit counsellors but nothing ameliorates the situation, it’s all within you and yet outside your control. It is like a horse which you are riding and it’s chasing something dark, so dark that you are scared of facing it, you want to control the horse but the horse is wild, ferocious and destined for something destructive. You try to find out the purpose of it, the more you dig the deeper you fall and then you realise that you have entered in to a vicious circle which has no end. No matter how much you try, the pit has no end and your thoughts are feeding on it like a termite making it deeper and darker.

The desperation to step out of this vicious circle make you do things which are beyond your personality, you get doped, meet people you abhor, stop being amiable with people you once loved and in the process you lose your identity. You appear to be a mess, no matter how much you justify and term it as ‘just a phase’, it is never ending…

Darwin theory talks about survival of the fittest and to survive one needs to adapt according to the circumstances; so how do you become functional when you are in this never ending vicious circle? The answers lies in the culture of victimhood, you derive pleasure from your pain. Suddenly, you become possessive of your pain and you adapt. Melancholy becomes part of your life and you survive to be pained and derive pleasure from it. You face every day, breaking out and shattered walking from point to point only to appear functional and civilised. There is nothing inside you, you don’t feel and the numbness inside you has stopped bothering you anymore. The gumption or the grief has no impact on you. You are self-engulfed in the pleasure of the pain, which you tried to fight once. You are no more a warrior but a prisoner, prisoner of your own cage of thoughts…

The pleasure of pain becomes story of your life!

                                                                                                                                     – Shashi K.

“Because that’s the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don’t want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lungs. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It’s mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.”

                                ― Stephanie PerkinsLola and the Boy Next Door

Advertisements

One thought on “Hollow, Weak, and Melancholic

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s