The Universe / Gregory Alan Isakov
Me / The 1975
When you can’t talk to anyone, you write to anyone.
Hi there. My name is Kenn. I am 20 years old, but I’ll be turning 21 in less than two months. Just like you, I am a human being. Just like you, I have often wondered about life, and this world that I live in. I have wondered about my fellow human beings – what they do, how they got to where they are, how their hearts beat, what their view of the universe looks like. My name’s Kenn, and I am almost 21. So I guess you can say I am no longer a child, but an adult. I don’t even know what that means.
Sometimes I wonder if time really is infinite. Well, it is, technically. But sometimes, when I am so down and sad, it just feels like the world is so small and time is running out.
Tonight, for whatever reason, I find myself once again in this depressive state. And this state actually feels familiar. In the oddest way, I feel like I am back to reality. In the oddest way, I feel like I am exactly where I’m supposed to be, feeling exactly what I’m supposed to feel.
I told him he was a hero. My hero. Because the truth is, he just saved a lost soul – a soul that was ready to surrender to all of the pain and sadness on the earth. And it’s still true; he is my hero. It sounds like another cliche and overused teenage pick-up line, but it isn’t. It’s actually the bold hard truth: he saves me – constantly, and without him even knowing it. But sometimes, you can’t talk to your hero. Because all heroes also have their own lives. They can’t just spend their whole existence saving people; they sometimes have to save themselves too.
I don’t know how to handle myself when I’m alone, though. I have had moments of despair, moments of frustration, moments of anger, moments of fear (extreme fear) and anxiety, and lots of it. I have had my own share of sleepless nights, weeks, of asking myself how much more I can bear. But I’ve never felt like I won this battle – this battle against my recurring sadness.
I battle depression everyday. It’s not a one-time thing. It’s a constant thing. I battle depression everytime I wake up, everytime I go to bed, when I brush my teeth, when I eat my breakfast, when I drag myself to a job interview, when I listen to party songs and dance in clubs. I battle it each time I look into my mother’s eyes, seeing her pure love and sacrifice. I battle it each time I feel guilty for being the way that I am – sad, miserable, toxic, lost. And I battle it with every breath that I take. And it hasn’t been easy.
I battle depression everyday. But sometimes, I just wanna lose. Sometimes, I am willing to become the loser in this combat.
Because it’s not easy. I wake up everyday feeling like a complete failure, a complete void. I feel like I had already died before, and I am now the old soul. Other times, I feel like I don’t deserve this chance to breathe, this chance to be whole. Because I had forgotten how being whole really felt like. I had forgotten how a coloring book looked like, or how a child’s laughter sounded like. I had forgotten the ways one soul can make another smile.
I hate that I am fragile, and I hate that I am physically weak. I hate that I have such a poor appetite. I hate that I am sensitive and vulnerable, and I hate that I am constantly anxious, always living with this fear that I myself have created inside my chest. I hate all of it.
I also hate that I am gradually turning into what I swore I’d never be.
Or maybe I’m not hateful. Maybe I’m just afraid.
Maybe I’m afraid of the way that I need you, of the way that I was always with you. Maybe I’m afraid of the way that I love you, and of the way that I am not okay when we’re not okay. Maybe I’m afraid that my broken soul is still breathing only because it has found a home with you.
And it’s weird because you are the one thing I am holding on to, the one thing I have been holding on to.
Times like this, I know that I am not in my sane mind. But sanity is relative. Because I sometimes feel like it’s times like this that I actually am being who I am – someone far from what the world expects of me.
So yes, dear world. I am a sad soul. But that is not to say I don’t have happy moments. I do. What I am trying to say is, I am real. And that is not to boast, but to make it clear to all those who love me that I am okay. I just get a little too sad sometimes.
What’s funny is that my life isn’t that much chaotic. I have food on my plate, roof on top of me, and family I can run to when I am feeling homeless. But my sadness is rooted somewhere else, somewhere even myself can’t comprehend.
But hey, I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m still typing on my keyboard.
Because I am holding on to something. To someone.
I guess I have that. A lot of that.
I guess depressed people are the most hopeful of all.
To wake up with a heavy chest and a heavy mind and survive? That is pure hope.
Hope that better days will come.
Hope that maybe someday, this feeling won’t be so familiar anymore.