I think of depression as a dip or tear in the system of a semi-organized machine. The dysfunction comes upon it with that voracious appetite stalling grinding gears and switches. This is a lot like black holes or rips in the fabric of the universe. Sure, I could have used the former analogy but it seems so trite and not how I want to frame it. There is plenty of steady state nothingness that comes with the territory, metal gear melancholy. Not just a void but a sagging jowly crumpet eater drowning in their weak ass tea. You know the ones. The sycophantic mish mush slap-themselves-on-the-back social climbers up in everyone’s bidness. Down and down it goes the mood of the fledgling hour, the mopey blues from nowhere, sad and broken looking up at rays of light traveling away from us.
I guess it’s better now, what with all the psa’s and information out there. But there is stigma, you read about it all the time. People afraid to let it out for fear of being mocked or told to suck it up by all those ignorant types. There’s too many of them still out there. They bitch and complain about their spouses and work but we can’t discuss a life-altering, heavy drain on our entire being. Why is that happening? Our feelings, or non feelings, are ours alone, we take the burden and shuffle along a lost highway. Sure, help is great, maybe it won’t last forever and eat up all your hard work and relationships. Maybe trusting someone with this secret is a way out, the sandpit has a rope somewhere. Letting out that secret though, even after the first, it’s like a claw tugging at my chest, pulling words down the gullet. Screams and wails are burrowing deep within whimpering like the bad dogs thrown outside.
All the help and programs just didn’t cut it enough. Yes I am hilarious and witty with all manner of people and can feel fine minute by minute, but alas the dull ache bounces back jack, the jowls and stupor link hands and grip me ever so. I’ve run them over and run away from the life, the problems, the sickly child, only to be tethered to this overgrown malady. You ignore it it comes back, you screen the calls and it comes knocking with lilies and nutella, “I love you baby.” Pshaw! I got so much in my craw but I gotta choke it down and be all smiles and happy thoughts like fucking Peter Pan. Though so many of us must be like this. So many are hiding in plain sight, plastering Crest white toothy grins and offering bland pleasantries to false faces. What can you do? We live by our conventions and trickery. Thunder gods with tiny voices held within.