Depression : When Death Looks Enticing

depression1

By: B. Goode

 

Imagine someone who has been blind since birth. Imagine them asking you to describe the colour `green’. Can you? Try it.

Depression is exactly like that. It is indescribable especially to those who have never experienced it themselves.

The usual words used to describe it such as `feeling low’, `sad’, `useless’, `down’ and whatevernot could barely scratch the surface of how a depressed person felt.

The utter sense of hopelessness brought about by the emotionally numbing but at the same time excruciating non-physical pain that resides somewhere in the deepest recesses of your very soul that threatens to rip your life essence and spit it out into the nether is what drives a depressed person mad.

And perhaps it is this lack of appropriate vocabulary to describe this `madness’ that causes mad people to be creative. People like Van Gogh, Einstein, Shakespeare, Prince and the like. Geniuses all of them.

I guess when you have been presented with the void that depression has brought, you tend to fill it with imaginings that came to you during your darkest hour; a painting of a starry night or the equation to how the universe work or a lyrical melody deeper than the deepest ocean or a story that never gets old.

Or like most others, you just lie in your bed hoping for the pain to subside.

Medication works to an extent. But it is akin to a toothache. You’d take a couple of Panadol until the pain subsided. Or if it was due to a cavity, you’d have the offending tooth extracted.

But you can’t extract depression. You’d take a couple of Zoloft and then a couple more and then some more and then still some more until you were unsure whether you were dead or alive.

Therapy? How do you explain the colour `green’ to a therapist who has blind since birth?

And you know what’s the worst thing about depression? It is when you are no longer afraid of the void. But instead you embrace it to the point of seeking it even. Because you are already so immersed in the unlit zone for so long that it seems to wrap you in this blanket of warmth that feels like love.

But it won’t just stop there. You’d crave for more. And more. And you’d descent even deeper into the abyss until you are outside the door of the mistress of the void herself. Death. Waiting for an invitation to enter. A soft wispy hello will do the trick.

But why wait for an invitation when you could just leap straight into her bosom and be one with the void? Peace at last.

Most are fortunate though. The realisation that darkness will consume everyone sooner or later makes them relish the opportunity to enjoy basking in the light for a while longer.

But for people like Robin Williams, Heath Ledger, Kurt Cobain and millions of unknown victims of suicide, even the light could no longer entice them.

Why am I writing this trash you may ask?

You see. Last night’s thunderstorm had caused my circuit-breaker to trip whilst I was binge-watching Netflix. Then I realized.

You don’t have Netflix in hell.

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