when the deep blue funk of depression has sunk its gnawing teeth into the flesh of my being, wishes wilt, dissipate and decompose before the next funk hits me. i am paralyzed. the thing is, my face keeps on smiling, and i keep on being my witty self, charming, verbose and all too understanding.
i have known this bitch for long. i remember it from my college days. then i did not know what it was, i just kept on plowing away with the insanity of 23 semester units, training three hours a day, and freelancing for the campus paper. sometimes to not go insane, the coping mechanism is to act out the insanity in what you do. but then there is always a residual that gets shoved away by some mechanism of procrastination. that residual that you keep on shoving away is that bit that you do not want to look at. not because you are a wimp, but because looking at it will uncover pain that you fear unbearable. the choice becomes to bury your head in the sand or jump off the next bridge. i have always gone for the sand option. sand is my element. i have two stories drafted that have something to do with the desert and sand. i love sand. in particular, i love digging in the sand with this fucking head. i mean, burying my head in the sand.
now i know that this lovely bitch is called depression. fuck, i studied chemistry, i know more genetics than my doctor, and i have much too clear a picture of my situation. it does not help to have a clear picture.
when every single of your wishes and dreams got invalidated and your self-esteem and amour-propre thorn to pieces and tossed out as scum while growing up, it may have helped that intelligence kept you on this side of insanity, but the wall between you and insanity is permeable and elastic. it is the kind of wall that you walk through back and forth all the time. people tell me how strong and courageous i am, i listen, and i know that they have no clue. it has nothing to do with courage, and it has a lot to do with walking back and forth through that ethereal wall that separates insanity from sanity. i know my wall, i have seen it in all shades. i never took drugs, i did not need to. i listen to other's accounts of their drugs experiences, and somehow i do not get curious. i have been there.
this week i have been nursing my bitch and learning to love it. i need to reinvent it, for it has decided to keep me company, and frankly, i do not want to live with a bitch. it is time for me to drop the mask, i am tired of being the wise clown smiling. there are so many stories that i want to share!
Technorati Tags: depression, insanity, mask, psyche, sanity
