Friday, November 22, 2013

notes on being depressed and being in love

Every night I sleep at around 9 pm. I sleep with all the ceiling lights off but with my laptop left on, screen set dim. It burns tiny holes with its exhaust fans into the wood of the chair it lives on, all while I slip out of my own life and sink into my own mind. It keeps me company when I want to be alone. As a result, I've developed a deep personal connection with actors I've never met and do not know what are like, and characters who have been written as exaggerations. I listen to scripted words as a lullaby and that is comforting as if there was some one there. Here is the reason why: I get sad.

I am sad when it is dark and I am allowed to cry. Sad like I'm not allowed to be sad in public. Sad like I'm not allowed to be when in class. Sad like I always am but never want to acknowledge.

Pause. Wait. How on Earth can I talk about being sad, being so very sad, being sad at night, being a ball of flesh that wants to turn into a depressed black hole, an absence of a being caused by sad sad sad self-loathing forces? How can I say these things and not sound self-indulgent? Self-indulgent is an ugly word. Self is an ugly thing. Here it is again: I'm an I and a myself and I hate it. I hate how I want to talk about how I feel and how I feel like shit and the only words I can use are sad and self-loathing. These are terms of the ugly self-indulgent, and that's why I use them. They are words that I have to use because a, I am too dumb to think of any other, b, they are perfect for the dumb feelings I have, and c, any other word would be wrong as well. 

How can someone talk about being depressed without sounding silly? How can someone verbalize that? Type it? Carve it into a tree? Use that silly cursive font they drilled into us in grade school? Is there any way to talk about it? I have tried and I have failed and now I've given up. Now I shall just spill like a knocked over pitcher. Fuck it, fuck it. Here goes.

Being depressed and in love is confusing because your heart is filled with handwritten notes signed with kisses, but your stomach is filled with doubt. Why why why do you like me? I want to ask, I want to know, I want the words to bleed from me until I get an answer I can hold. Dear. Stop complimenting me, I don't take those well. But please reassure me that you will hold my hand when I am sad and that you are okay with my being sad. This is all very confusing. I want to lie on my back and stare at the ceiling and do nothing but breathe and think about how I am and how I exist and I want you next to me but you will get bored of staring at the ceiling and you will want to be outside and doing fun things with a real happy fun shiny other girl. I worry. I worry that I will make you sad. Depression should be on the quarantine list of the Center for Infectious Diseases. Please don't let me ruin you. Please hold my hand.

How to think about being with someone when thinking about what dying feels like is a tight rope I have yet to learn to walk. Shut up I know the whole love yourself first before you can love someone else saying blah blah, it's a lie. I love you I love you but I hate me I hate me and on bad days I need you so much it's silly. But love is not a cure for depression, It's a soft blanket and an entirely different thing. Separate the church from the state, the colored clothes from the whites, your personal life and your work life, and the butterflies and kisses from the hate hate hate of your own skin. It's possible. It's weird and amazing and terrible but it's nice and that's the best way to articulate it.

1 comment:

  1. Just you sleep a little
    Leave the world alone and later
    If you wake up alive
    That old blanket of sorrow
    Could be feathers and down
    Your blanket of woe
    Would leave you alone

    - Feathers and Down, The Cardigans

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