Friday, August 21, 2009

In Defense of Depression- An Essay

By- Eros Marcello

There's something quite unsettling about being happy and I don't like it.
I'd much rather be in a state of utter turmoil. You see, turmoil leads to
such vices as self-destruction, which is a supremely better method of creation
and expression. There's so much more to it. After all, the only things that
come from contentment are idleness, age and ego. Feeling happy is only
an omen for the bad things to come. The way I see it, if you're miserable every
second of every day, you always win. Nothing can bring you down lower. You
expect the worst all the time. No surprises, nothing. If your mother dies, if
your girlfriend fucks your best friend, if your car explodes, if your
dad gambles away your college funds, if the asshole at work gets the big
promotion instead of you, if you lose a breast to cancer...these are all things
that take part in the grand shit storm of your life.

Take a look around, and I mean take a good look around. Is there anything
worth being happy about? Is there any justification for being optimistic?
There isn't ever a bright side. There is no "other hand." The people
that tote and gloat about how positive and upbeat they are almost always the
people that are up to their wastes in debt, were abused as children or get off
to defecating on themselves.

The truth is that we are all damaged. Some just mask it with temporary pleasure
and most just deny it all together, but don't just take my word for it, it's an
industry. Thousands of people every year purchase anti-depressants and walk
into counseling offices, and my question is...


Am I missing something here? Am I the only one who recognizes the malevolent
beauty in introverted agony? My crippling doubt, my dirt low self-esteem, my
heartaches, my heartbreaks....I couldn't live without them. I dwell, sulk and
mope and do it all without shame.

Still skeptical? How about this, get your hands on the most depressed,
negative, lonely, good-for-nothing person you can find and put a gun right
between their eyes. Watch them tear up like a thirteen year old girl during her
first period. Listen to them beg for their lives and grovel at your feet. Press
the cold metal right up against their skin and just watch their hysteria ensue.
Now, if a legitimately depressed person loathed their existence so, why would
they fear a swift end to their troubles? Well, the same reason why teens cut
themselves and purposely botch their suicide attempts, the same reason people
waste themselves away with hard drugs and alcohol. These are individuals who
are unable to ascertain their intrigue, their lust for depression. The masses
claim they're merely "cries for help." Such cop-outs are laughable,
and only exist to serve as fitting scapegoats for a generation of parents who
are far more destructive and oblivious than the kids they're raising.

Ask yourself, which is stronger: Great joy or great sadness? Why is there
such heavy persuasion to disregard our negativity and our pessimism? By doing
so, you're overlooking an element of our primal nature as human beings. Put
down the Dr. Phil book, turn off Oprah. Life is not easy. Life is not simple.
Life is not pleasant. Life is not fair. Stop wasting your potential by
pretending otherwise and spawn something with your desperation instead of
hiding it in the lump in your throat.

It's the people that cling to their happiness who carry the most misery but
it's the people who embrace their despair who bear the most humanity. It's the
few who wave their emotional masochism like a flag that are truly to credit for
all beneficial, heartfelt, intelligent creation while the rest of the world
gallivants in their hollow, pointless glory. Which would you rather be, the
forest or the tree?

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