I have been depressed for the past week. Why? I don’t know, I could postulate theories, but I don’t really know. See, the thing is, I get depressed frequently. I think it comes in cycles of a few weeks at a time. It just is…it’s been like this quite a while, maybe 3, 4, 5 years now. I don’t mind it, I am used to it. I am happy sometimes, like really ecstatic. Other times I am just sad. I don’t judge the emotion. I just let it be. I realised though that in this specific week, I have had multiple epiphanies. Each insight has made me temporarily lighter, but then I sink back into the darkness and it continues. I think it’s here to teach me things and it will leave when I’m done.
There is a darkness that lies within. I think it’s in most of us. I love my darkness; I’ve grown attached to it. In fact, I have let it define me. Life outside my darkness is scary, unknown. I think that is why I get depressed often, I like it. See, my darkness lets me believe I am this deep brooding artist, this complex misunderstood being. Why do I want this so much? How do I draw strength from this? It makes me feel superior, enigmatic. It keeps me aloof, away, distant from friends, family. It leaves a vacant stare in my eyes.
The darkness protects me. It gives me the illusion of strength, of being in control. I am protected from the world around me, its uncertainty, and its people. It all comes down to love at the end of the day. I dislike love. Sometimes, I feel like I hate love. I’m not only referring to romantic love, I mean love in general, in its pure essence. Because I hurt love, and love hurt me. So I retreat into the numb cold of the darkness.
At some point in time, the darkness within was born. There is always an origin. I don’t know when mine began. It seems as if the moment I gained consciousness of my unitary existence in the universe, my darkness was born. The illusion of being me. Hmmm…I don’t know, that’s an interesting meditation point though. I’ll go down that rabbit hole another day. As I write this, I reflect, some sort of meditation. I look back on my life, and all I see through this tinted depro shades is a string of painful experiences. A line of black spots, birth places of darkness. Each birth snowballs into the next, until the small spot of darkness swells to fill the sky, and all we have is night. That’s how I feel.
How to lift the darkness? I have no idea. I do know I’m tired of it though. I know it’s possible to live in unshakeable peace and intense joy, and I want that. I will keep picking up the gems in this dirt; hopefully I will eventually stumble on the key.
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