An Ode to Misery

My mind can be a very confusing place, but pain must have some kind of purpose.

At least i hope it does. 

What that purpose is, I'm not confident of the answer, but maybe this will serve me as some kind of beacon, a way to airlift myself from my misery and find a state of mind that
serves me better than hopelessness.
This is an ode to the heartbreak, an out pour of affection to the wallowing, and perhaps a nail in the coffin of my suffering.
When I look back on my life, I see it as narrated script broken into chapters, some parts so different to the others it's hard to believe it was me there for all of them. 
Ive theorised that we all feel like
this, like we've lived past lives while in this one. 
You remember yourself going through the motions of your experiences and often you don't even recognise yourself. 
When you have depression, from the moment you open your eyes, you wish didn't. 
You don't want the world to exist! 
The people in it, the places, you don't want to exist. 
Everything just becomes a black hole of misery and you become a mere shadow of who you thought you were.
An elusive person who only makes appearances in drunken or disassociated states.
You can feel that you're still there, somewhere inside your black heart, you know the real you, the person you know yourself as is in there, but it's like you went for a walk outside your own body and locked yourself out trying to get back in. 
You feel like your drowning, like a black lethal gas is filling your lungs suffocating you, pinning you to the ground with its weight. 
So heavy. 
You try to take a breath, but that breath is harder than the last, and the next one even worse.
The emptiness, isolation, misery, the sombre music that you listen to over and over and over slowly sends you mad.

The kind of madness that makes you feel like there's a tornado inside your mind, with dark thoughts whirling around your head at high speed, try to hold onto just one of them, but it's gone before you can even make sense of it.
You reach out to yourself, trying to tell yourself, 'what am I doing? What the fuck am I thinking?' but you may as well be trying to make a phone call with a brick, because you'll never get through; 
and the cycle of hopelessness continues. 

The isolation, Oh. my. God! The isolation.

 
Depression to me is all about; 
Love me, but don't talk to me,
Be my friend, but let me treat you like shit. 
If you really loved me, you would.
Fix me, but don't come near me.
Help me, but I don't want your help.

You plead and plead with yourself "reconnect, let someone help, lift yourself out of this"

but at the same time, you mentally curl yourself into a ball of misery and clutch at the emotional blanket of your shattered hope because it's all you have.
You fall in love with your misery, it becomes who you are, you wonder if the old you is even there ymore. 
The hope and optimism you once possessed, is now shrouded in cynicism and hopelessness and you revel in the idea of being alone, being shut out by the world where you can be alone with your thoughts and just drink and listen to sad songs alone at peace with your darkness. 
When the doors are closed and it's dark and you're hidden by the
night, the people who look at you funny because you say suicidal things a little bit too much, or you've gotten too skinny or too fat can't see you and all.

The judgement disappears, you feel a sense of contentment that comes from being alone with your pain. 
There's an odd sense of peace that comes with being content in your misery, because you relinquish any need to care, you don't care if you have friends, or who you offend, and you're with selfishness because no-one understands what you feel and even if they did, they can't help you anyway.
There's a contentment that comes in knowing what doesn't kill you in reality, just makes you to die. 
When you've truly hit bottom, you no longer make yourself feel guilty for not being happy, you're desperate, alone, filled with rage and confusion and you allow yourself to feel those feelings guilt free, and what could be better than that? 

I remember what it was like to be happy. To appreciate the wind in my hair, to feel elated for no reason. I remember when I was still blissfully ignorant. .
I read a book by comedienne Mary Coustas 'all I know' and she spoke mainly about the heartbreaks and grief she experienced throughout her life and ill never forget one particular line that jumped right off the page and into my soul which said "....you begin to see life in high definition when the filter of naivety is removed....". 

Indeed...indeed.

That's reality isn't it? Common sense almost.
Life seems colourful and abundant and there's possibilities when you are protected by the 'filter of naivety', but once you experience a death, heartbreak, some kind of trauma, the protection shield that you didn't even know you had is ripped from your hands and in it's place,

you realise the world is harsh and bitter and there aren't always reasons to smile.

You realise your innocence has been stolen.
You realise you'll never be the same again.