Dearest Depression, Sometimes it Hurts and Sometimes it Doesn’t

I know this gets old, but please hear me out. The flowers are dying, and the stains left on the ground as it falls—they too will have gone. Everything is, but a blurry picture now, the mind that has it playing on repeat.

I have seen too much of chaos, for me not to talk about it. There is a special attachment that I share, and for the majority of the crowd that feels the same. We no longer feel happy about anything, as happy as it may sound. Roots to our imaginations—distraction in the cosmos, pure affliction of the soul.

And we just sit in silence, with the others calling out names. “Why don’t you just snap out of it?” I mean, it literally isn’t that simple. The body and the mind, for it to find meaning aligned, just does not happen overnight or ever.

People will think that we don’t care about others, but the thing—we have done nothing but put others first, even during times when we could not get up and groom ourselves. It’s not that I like being depressed, but the feeling won’t leave, so one has to leave with it, for the entirety of life that is to come.

Every vase will have been broken, the leaves wilted and seasons of autumn overly narrated, and still—there goes the persona who did nothing but try to love himself. People will think, but what is there in thinking when we know that we cannot continue like this.

This life, for me, and to the ‘wise’ who think that we aren’t—there is no feeling but the coils of deep satisfaction whenever we feel depressed or even suicidal. And if I were to live a different version of myself tomorrow, maybe I’d pass, because tonight—the swirls of melancholia will have me overwhelmed, which of course I will like.

It’s the daily attire, now that we wear it such compellingly. Just as you take your coffee with three doses of Jack Daniels—we too, the purity in each phase of grief, there is no denying, or what is life if it isn’t?

Less is known about the lonely nights, the gripping storm and the plummeting shades of grey that always surround. Sometimes it hurts, but it flies, feelings of emptiness like there is no today. Outside, the quietest of the winds will sail but the best thing about them is that they will no longer bother.

Don’t forget that we too, once cared for, but the situation that makes us slaved to ourselves. Everyone smiles, and we do too—perhaps the only difference that entails the ‘smile’ is that we did it such realistically. For life is never any sweeter with or without it.

And please don’t ask of us not to be swept away by the currents—because it’s the only feeling that stays. For everyone leaves, the jeweler and the nights filled with butterflies. Each, but a deceive, and today is the time of our lives.

-Yogesh Chandra