Depression

I hate this topic. I hate acknowledging my involvement in it. I avoid discussing it, at all costs - to the detriment of my own personal life. I despise sharing my experience because I think it shows weakness.

None of this has changed, and I no longer expect it to. Part of this… disease (I also resent this title), is learning to accept horrible truths and live on with them anyhow.

I don’t think anyone enjoys sharing their personal struggles. I think that we feel compelled to bring them up in order to try and show others they’re not alone. 
Knowing that others have had the same dark thoughts as you lessens the burden somehow. I've been helped by other brave souls who went there first. Friends, lovers, or strangers, most of these people don’t know they’ve helped me. Except for one, maybe. 
I’ve never said anything… but I’d like to sort of, pay homage by giving back. 
I’m going to try.

It began with anger. Anger at humanity. 
The hypocrisy of society and futility of mankind’s actions.
Extremely early on I was labeled a “gifted” child (whatever that means) and separated from my peers in order to read only barely more advanced books in a tiny windowless room with one or two other kids.
This only pissed me off more. 
As I got older I wanted to know what being “gifted” meant, besides being able to regurgitate meaningless information for the pleasure of my teachers. 

I am not the first child to face the idea of death differently. I remember being scared of it for a few months at most, before somehow coming to the conclusion that death would be peace.
Ever since then I have looked forward to that peace. 
Yes, I knew then as I know now how inappropriate that kind of talk is.
In my research on gifted children I came across this (on Reddit, I believe):

"Gifted kids have a hard time finding any peers to comfortably and openly discuss the unknowns and to discuss the topic of death, as most peers and many elders aren’t willing to explore something they don't understand and are scared of. They are very self aware and sharply aware of others and their fears and inability to communicate, so they tone it down. 

Those afflicted are also less likely to speak of death because they know most people are uncomfortable with the subject and the gifted are also aware that discussing death is a great way to end up in involuntary confinement on a suicide watch. So they suck it up and try to function normally amongst others. Its also been hypothesized that this is where Rumination begins for these individuals.”

Reading that hit hard.

As my teenage years went on, it only got worse as my parents and teachers began to try and force me to pick a career and “do something with my life.”

I had already figured out that life is pointless, so the school system seemed pointless. Everything seemed pointless. It still does. 

Imagine this: you’re told to work hard to learn and build, but you know that it’s all essentially for nothing because we’re still going to die. Most people leave little behind to chronicle their existence, perhaps some may remember you in the next generation but the earth has been around for billions of years. Your life is a drop in the ocean and most importantly: once you’re dead, you won’t even know or care if someone remembers you.

From the age of 14 until now (25) I have tried to forget this knowledge, bury it in a deluge of drug abuse, risk taking behaviour, and most shockingly - becoming more invested in other people's problems than in my own. 

Highlights include an ER visit, a stint on antidepressants, a personality disorder diagnosis, and an endless train of different therapies and therapists. 
I fell in love and then in loss, both so hard it still feels unreal to me. I did more and more drugs and my anger finally broke to grief, despair, and eventually complete numbness - for a while I wondered if I would be able to feel anything again at all.

But the point of all this is that I did these things because I felt that nothing in life matters.

In the grand scheme of things, that may be true.
Yet, we are small. 

The connections we make with others may be the biggest thing we can accomplish in our lifetimes.
The people whose lives you touch.
The people you have the power to make happy, angry, or heartbroken.


By now I have come to accept these thoughts as part of me.
Not broken, yet unable and unwilling to be fixed. 
Much like Super Mario's ghosts, you cannot kill them. 
And if you turn your back on them for too long, it’s game over. 
The abyss stares back into me, the devil lives in a palace on my shoulder. 

Some days I wouldn't have it any other way.