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