Depression is a bitch, right? Like the kind from Gone Girl, who never truly leaves and stays to make us miserable. I’ve written about suicide and depression a few times, in hopes of feeding hope to the hopeless.
As Buddhism says, life is suffering; make no mistake, it’s a train wreck with a bunch of butterflies
Dear Chester, a generation, to say the very least, grew up listening to your voice; this is a lot more than just a ‘Papercut’. Being the weird one, the first song I listened to, ‘Numb’ kinda got tattooed on my heart as if someone finally understood, as if it was ’Somewhere I Belong’ and still does feel the same; for obvious reasons, of trying to make a path where there seemingly isn’t; where the world seems against everything you could do.
And maybe these words, ‘In the end’ don’t matter anymore, but I keep on writing for whoever reads this and, hopefully not, might end up in similar crossroads of life and death.
Life is absurd, seemingly meaningless no matter what meaning we struggle to squeeze out of it. Sometimes, it just seems futile to even try; sometimes we just want to let go, with the question, why to even struggle.
And I’ve been there, at the crossroads, watching cars go by with a rum bottle in one hand, wishing it would give me courage. I moved past fear, to a failed attempt; the truck just turned the other way. For moments, I closed my eyes, life flashed by with the truck’s headlights; I attempted to let go, because to stay, I didn’t find a good enough why.
Memories in moments, as if pictures with smiles, each one smiling at me, I smiled back, feeling life, it wasn’t that bad. For a moment, I don’t know why, but I wanted to live; I wanted to hold onto life, onto every bits and pieces I’ve ever had. Though it wasn’t much, it wasn’t nothing. I wanted to see, how the movie ended, maybe there’d someday be a breakthrough, a certain climax after the dull storyline.
Buddhism also says everything is temporary; thus, so was pain, I don’t know about death, but, so was life. Death would mean game over my child, a permanent step for a temporary cry.
Words, maybe they will not heal; all I can do is hope they do, maybe in some small measure, maybe to someone.
Depression is a downward spiral, something, upon evaluation, I got into voluntarily; and once out of it, had to and still have to make conscious effort to stay out of it; life has been better, better than ever, it has been kind to me. And surely it will be unfair someday, as to not ‘Break the habit’ of being unfair to everyone; but I hope to remember the crossroad and the path I chose; and I, just as millions of others, wish you chose life, every damn time.
In those moments, in the darkness, nothing seems to matter, no one seems to truly care; but, soon enough they do, soon enough there are ones who will be glad that you failed, that you chose life.
Death is not the same as suicide; the difference being one is peace, the other is a lie; one is letting go, knowing you had no choice; the other, it’s holding on to a leaf in a flooded river, knowing you had a choice; more often than not, if you come back, soon enough, you’ll be glad, the leaf saved you.
I know living things need more credit, but, just as words, music doesn’t die. Thus, hope to hear you on the other side, Good Goodbye.