A Melancholic Recurrence

In a crowded lobby after a play it hits you again, the laughter. Immediately you attempt to suppress it for fear of the unwanted attention it will bring. You stopper it, and as sudden as it came, it leaves. Slowly, the relief felt at its departure is replaced by the silent wondering as to the cause of its arrival. Then as quickly as the peak of the elation arose, the depths of the depression hit. Panic strikes. Your heart races. The room spins. The pulsations pounding your ears caused by the conversations of the surrounding people split your eardrum like the crescendo of a Kodo Drummer concert, sending you into a dizzy bleeding frenzy. You feel ready t0 collapse as every thought entering your mind is not only horrific, but so terrifyingly true. You will never find love; and everything you could ever hope to accomplish in life will be meaningless and forgotten ten years after your death. You will be forgotten. No one cares about you. They couldn’t possibly care, they don’t even know you.

As the depression descends and the centripetal velocity of the room reaches its high point the one thought reverberating in your skull is “Why?”. Why are you here? Why is it just you reacting to existence this way? Or are other people feeling what you feel, thinking what you think; and if so how can they possibly cope? Is this a problem with all human existence? It doesn’t seem likely. No one else in the room seems to be having any problems. In fact they rather seem to be enjoying themselves. Why is it that you are having this breakdown? Could it be that the other people have just adapted to this constant depression known as existence?

As the depression reaches depths previously uncharted it culminates into one single driving thought. It’s just you. They don’t feel it. In fact they don’t have a problem at all. They even seem to be happy, truly happy. An emotion that you cannot even remember feeling. You flirt with suicide but not dangerously. You don’t want to die. Not yet. You want to find this supreme joy that everyone else so enjoys. Suicide can’t take you there, but something else can. You don’t know what it is yet, but you know it is out there, somewhere; and hopefully you will find it someday. And just like that you realize that depression not only engulfs your entire life, consuming everything, pushing you towards suicide, but also keeps you alive and gives you a reason to keep living. If you could just find that happiness, just hold out one more day and you might find it tomorrow. Just one more day, its not that long. Just one more day…one more day…happiness is out there...somewhere...just one more day

A Melancholic Revelation

Imagine a feeling of elation that is so powerful you burst out in recalcitrant laughter. You could be watching a deer jerk and moan out its last painful breaths and just smile. You can’t contain it. It just comes at you for no reason, and leaves as mysteriously as it came. It doesn’t feel sadistic or odd, but healthy. As the laughter peaks a previously latent feeling begins to emerge. Within seconds of it hitting the peak the realization that you are empty takes over and dominates your thoughts. There is nothing going on inside. No joy, no sadness, no anger, no fear. You are at the plateau of the purest depression imaginable. Just sitting there, not giving a rat’s ass about anything. In this vast storm of dismay there is only one beacon of light standing tall, and projecting the truth into your miserable, gloom-ridden excuse of a life. If you would just take a revolver and paint the wall with your brains you would never have to feel this again. All of the previous thoughts and assumptions you had about suicide and those who do it go fly out the window. All you can think about is ending this horrible feeling that has led an emotional coup d’etat on your psyche. You have no soul. All you can do is just sit there; and the longer you do the more you realize that everything you are thinking about how pointless life is is really true. All of your worries are gone. You want to cry, but you can’t, you just sit there, laughing. And all of a sudden suicide begins to really make sense. Not even as a means to end the pain. It just feels right. The longer and longer you sit there the more and more it becomes logical. Just kill yourself, end it now, because life has no point. You are not here to serve a god. There is no driving purpose of life. Going to school, and getting a job won’t make you happy. All the drugs in the world wouldn’t take you away from this. There is only one escape. But you couldn’t kill yourself if you wanted to. You can’t stop fucking laughing.

My Girl

I want a girl. I want a girl that I can love. That I can fall for every single time I look at her. A girl that no matter what she says or does I will never think anything less of her; A girl who knocks me off of my feet by just looking at me. I want to love her so bad that it hurts. That it kills me every time she has to go away. I want to love her so bad that I would do anything for her. God I know that sounds so fucking cheesy, but when I think of it whenever I have thought about wanting a girl this is what I wanted. No girl has ever really made me feel this way. Not Jaimie, not Lenora. It’s sad. I care about both of them, and did while we were and are going out. I used to think that I just loved differently. But now I know. I don’t love differently at all. It’s just all of the girls I meet and start to date don’t live up to my standards. I know it sounds selfish, but shouldn’t I be entitled to everything that everyone else claims to feel? Why shouldn’t I? I hear all these people talk about the love they’re in and it pisses me off. I used to be so damn bitter. I never knew why. Now I know. I want to experience what I see in the movies. I want to meet a girl that is amazing. That I would introduce to my parents with pride. I want to love her for my whole life. I want to look into her eyes and know that she is everything I could ever want; and I want her to see the same in my eyes. I want to grow old with her; I don’t care if it comes easy or hard, if we are dirt poor, or filthy rich, as long as our love is true. That is all I care about. The rest of life won’t matter as long as I have her. This is why I love epic movies so much. Epic movies have epic love stories. Achilles’ and Briseis; Tristan and Isolde; Rick and Ilsa; Fuck, Harry and Ginny. It doesn't matter at all. Every great movie has a great love story. And every time I see one I melt. No, that’s not gay. I fucking go crazy when I see love like that. I want it so bad. I want to be able to love someone as fiercely, passionately, and insanely as these characters. I want her to be my equal in every way. I don’t want to look up to her nor do I want her to be anywhere near below me. I want her to be someone that I am crazy for; and who is crazy for me. I want her to be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, but brilliantly intelligent, horrendously funny, and amazingly real. I want a girl that whenever I see her I get butterflies in my stomach, goose bumps on my skin, and pains in my heart. I don’t know what else to say, but please God, whoever or whatever you are, if you even give a damn about me please help me find her.