Alright, here’s something weird: whenever I’m at the bottom of my depression, past thoughts of self-harm, because even that requires planning and execution, two things I’m unable to manage in that state, I experience…. relief.
Perpetually looking for the silver-lining in the way my mental health has panned out in life, this is a gift. Sometimes I’m like a crashed computer, and turn off mid-function. Since I don’t then care about living or dying, all of my anxieties evaporate into irrelevance. As an involuntary occupant of earth, nothing matters, right? Who cares about social posturing, Roth IRAs, Bottega Veneta loafers, learning how to ski, and whether Bora Bora or the Maldives is better dahhhling? As a matter of fact, who cares about car wrecks, vomit, untimely deaths, getting shot in public spaces, cancer silently multiplying inside of my body, and lethal seizures? Not me, because in that moment, things could not be worse, and I have nothing left to give. (Also, how do snobs not get tired of snobbing?)
There’s nothing to fear when things can’t be worse.
It’s almost a gift, when things cannot be worse. You’re forced to kind of relax into circumstance and have spaghetti limbs. You don’t have it in you to fight, so you let go and stop caring. Perhaps surprisingly, it’s this surrender that ends up being so emancipating. When you stop caring, you just are. When you just are, nothing matters. When nothing matters, you’re free. Perhaps this is the ethos behind suicide, although I think it’d be naive to assume all suicides are products of the same dwindling thought patterns. In the event it’s not readily apparent, I am not a doctor.
It’s not just my mind, though. As a result of all of my deep-seated anxieties going to jump in a lake one by one, my physical body begins to relax. My shoulders descend, my jaw stops clenching, I literally become a sad sack. A relaxed sad sack in a black outfit.
While I never wish that level of apathy for me or anyone else, there is something nice about that giving up of body and mind. I wish I could keep that bodily relaxation as I begin to rise back into the range of mental normalcy, whatever that means, but it’s like a small comfort I have to leave behind in a shitty place for next time I have to be there.
It’s like folks with Bipolar Disorder who enjoy the ride of mania even though they know it’s going to crash at some point. You’re involuntarily on the ride, anyway, you might as well enjoy what you can.
It’s also like the valium for dental fillings and root canals. Just kidding. There is never and will never be even a shadow of positivity or comfort about the dentist.
What’d we learn today, class? That’s right:
This concludes the “Good Things About Depression” listicle.
Sincerely yours in always pursuing the good about the bad,
Wednesday posts cover something that’s top of mind for me that week and are written in a short period of time. This means that editing is not strong. While it’s not my best work, it is my best, unfiltered thought.
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Here’s a nice golden good boi to look at.