Depression is a really vicious, self-indulgent illness. You don’t want to get better. It can attack at any point and nothing big or small you do can really affect it either way. It is almost, torturingly, a decision. Sure, you can talk about your problems, your feelings, your hopes your dreams, your loves, your hobbies, your sense of meaning. No one cares, essentially, because they all have their own, and they only really take it in if they’re taking notes because someone is paying them.
You don’t get up, you don’t get excited about sunshine, you forget the faces of the people you know better than yourself. Drugs help for a while. Exercises give you false hope. It’s not all bad, because you know there’s a life outside your bubble, and other people are getting on with things perfectly well. Life is going on, though it may be out of your sight. It certainly feels otherwise. I feel in limbo. Songs help for a while, better than drugs. Drugs need to be upped when you’re immune, the hunger for new sounds grows when you grow familiar with the first.
You don’t like to talk about it. Nothing anyone can say can make a difference. You forget everything. What’s really going on from day to day, the conversations you’ve had, the state of your relationships, all the things you used to love. Life is too much, overwhelming and yet dissatisfying.
You know there are options but all of them tire you. Nothing excites, nothing ignites any little flitter behind these eyes. Your heart plays dead until it has too much of not dealing with things. It’s an illness for people who don’t know what they want or how to get it, or refuse to take it from life for some reason or another.
I was thinking last night about dying. When I die, I want you to do this. I want you to organise a huge party with all my friends, family, acquaintances, facebook friends, myspace writers, everyone I’ve come into contact with, everyone is welcome and important. The best friend I made wishes with on the ear of a cuddly dog, the teacher I had a moment of connection with during a drama exercise, the kind woman in Tesco who complimented me on my hat and got chatting to me just for that. I want you to put up all the pictures you can find, and play videos of when I was happy and stupid, tributes to my friends, celebrations of the best parts of my life – all the good people who’ve made me what I am. Dancing pictures, silly faces, everything is valid. You can’t grieve properly if you choose one image to mourn over. And I wouldn’t want you to remember me like that. I am a girl of many colours and I can’t keep still. Death is not a time to mope. Give my heart what it wants, and maybe in death I will be able to accept it without question.
Oh, and play Blue Light by Mazzy Star. Preferably during my last moments. This is what I want to live my afterlife to.
I received a message today from a writer in New Zealand with a lot of heart, and it made me cry to remember that beautiful people keep going through hell and keep their grace. I hope I can do it and I wish I could be there for all the others. Keep going.
- 10 Goodbye Songs For Friends From The 90’s (mademan.com)