I'd thought I was resilient to this downward spiral feeling, time when nothing seems to go right, and everything is just all over the place. Time when you have just fallen down your rump, only to find out that you'd get kicked and hammered mercilessly further down the muck. It is when, even the idea of attempting to flounder becomes nearly impossible and emotionally taxing. You fail miserably even before the execution, your mind has no mercy telling you so.When you talk with your friends, you shield yourself with the shiny exterior to augment the happiness and alter the grim reality, You dissect the truth and offer them the left over, stuff that isn't thoroughly depressing, but how can you pull this one off, when you know in your heart that everything that's going on in your pathetic existence IS depressing?
You get into the game of self delusion. You tell them that everything is going swimmingly, you even manage to crack a joke or two, but in truth, you have no good news, only chapter of misfortunes, your life is everything but exciting, you are feeling down the dumps and crappy, but you never want to cast your shadows on any of them. They deserve to be happy and you ought to face the bitter fact-You are singled out for that cosmic torment. You work out your own salvation.
This is the time when you surrender to the hopelessness that's eating you alive, grawing at your person, you throw in the towel and you clam up and let them gush about their bright and promising lives. Their stories only underscore your lack of anything. You sink into the quicksand of depression while you steel yourself and listen to your friends with sense of detachment, viewing it at a certain distance. You know you are happy for them, you have to be, as what the norms dictate, but inside your head, the maggot is squirming telling you, what all of those stories make you? Are you worthy to be their friend when you are so smallish and insignificant?
When everything becomes so overwhelmingly unbearable, you shut the thought out, and then the world. You start to live in your four corner darkness. Feasting on your own pain, coiled into the smallest ball your tired and harrased body can muster, until you become inconspicuous to the prying, questioning eyes of people around you, until you blend in with the darkness.
I just hope this demon will pass. I wish I'd resurface again from this melancholia. I hope all the means will be justified. I wish I'd stop bleeding.
God, you know Ive been a good boy.
