Dressed & Depressed : La Vie En Morose
So … you know how I said last week that “All Hope Is Not Gone”?
Today we are hitting the yin to the yang, the ping to the pong, and the AC to the DC‘sed [deceased – geddit?].
I present to you : Depressionista™, or a blog post about my depression, this fat fucker who sits on my shoulders and sometimes puts on so much weight, it starts crushing me.
But before I proceed any further, I feel like I should explain the accompanying pictures.
I, instead, put my boots on and cross my legs. It doesn’t stop the ache, but makes it somehow more blog-friendly. Listen, it was that or a picture of me looking like a Goth Donald Trump, pouting angrily all the way to the Great Wall of Mexico.
Anyway, let’s start. And let me first make things clear.
Depression is not having a bad day. Depression is not getting into a hump because some idiot in the train tainted your new Dolce & Banana shoes with a Crappacino.
Depression is having your whole reality, your entire physical being and emotional state stained with the most ugly, painful and disgusting paint. It is sticky, heavy, dirty and shows you everything in a different shade : the people around you, your surroundings, and most of all, yourself. Color me bad indeed.
Depression is not only a constant feeling of hopelessness; it is a virtual hammer of pain and misery so strong that you end up feeling like you are forever suffocating and drowning within yourself. The inner drowning gets so powerful that you can only see a way out : getting out of that diseased self. YOUR self.
Depression is hell personified. If it had a face, it would look like the bastard child of Donald Trump & Kim Jong Il – constantly talking shit and threatening to kill you. Irritating the fuck out of your mind and exhorting you to push that red button of self-destruction, day in, day out , whether you are buying a coffee or spilling your Crappacino on the Dolce & Banana shoes of the dickhead in front of you.
And you know what the worst is? The worst is when you give into these thoughts. Paradoxically, giving into these evil thoughts gives instant relief. And that my friends, is the true evilness of depression. Once you accept that the only way to end the pain is to end your tenure on Earth, this motherfucking demon seems to take over your brain and issue endorphins and a feeling of peace which is incredibly strong. IT IS AWFUL!
Why do you think that most people who take themselves out are usually reported to be ‘fine’ before they give in? Because they have come to the conclusion which at that time seemed the only way out. And sadly that fatal decision is the only thing that seemed to give them peace at that moment in time. Please understand that people who suffer from depression are going through an immense inner turmoil and the decision is not taken lightly. But the decision taken is taken under the influence of a false sense of peace.
The thing is, depression can rear its ugly head (see above) at any time. Last weekend, I had a blast : I went out to a gig and met the motherfucking drummer from Iron Maiden, Nicko McBrain !
How cool?! and here’s the proof by the way.
But guess what, only three days later, and I am having an inner philosophical meltdown and I am unable to sleep, pestered with thoughts about : backstabbing fake friends; the fickle nature of relationships, the stupidity which is littered in offices, the fact that we are all prisoners in this open prison and that I am a corporate slave, the purpose of my life and why do I bother waking up in the morning if it is just to be a fucking slave to the system?!?
Oh yeah, by the way when I have an episode, I may do the pondering clutching my trusted old friend Skully, and stare blankly at a wall waiting for a response.
These days, I get a click from my Canon 6D.
Anyway, this is certainly a post with a different tone to my others, but I don’t want to be one of these bloggers who only post about the unicorns they had lunch with, and the rainbows they farted afterwards. As I mentioned before, I hate fakeness, fakery and fuckery.
Depression is real and if you want to talk … There is a friendly ear (or two) here. [Skully listens too]
PS: My temporary misery relief has come today in Royal Mail packages, I got my new shizzle from Killstar delivered ! Blog post once I manage to put Kim Jong Trump away 😉