Deathloop

By ANONYMOUS

I remember the days back when I was in my worst depressed state. The days when my mental state was at rock bottom. When everything was just so dark and meaningless. When my thoughts, my hopes, my life, drifted the farthest away from as to what I used to say, the obscured reality. I wasn’t in pain because of a heartbreak or because I am a failure or because of rejection or discontentment or confused of life or anything like it. I don’t really know, actually maybe I was or maybe it was something deeper and worse I just couldn’t fathom and make you understand. I was lost. I completely lost motivation to everything. And no one knew about it, not even my family which were closest to me. I was so good at masking it entirely that I feel like a different person every time I fake smiles and pretend that I am self-assured. I made sure everyone around me, or at least the people who cares would have nothing to worry about. It went on for quite long.

It was summer time. Every afternoon, on the break of twilight, I would have my sweet dark coffee with no cream and sit on our balcony. I let it cool a little bit for minute as I look around to check if there were someone else in the vicinity, most of the times there’s no one else. Nothing but the trees at rest from an arid day and the field of full grown rice crops swaying with the wind around me. As I enjoy the tranquility of the rushing blackness into the surroundings, the rushing of sadness would also then start flowing inside me like the caffeine from my coffee only that the caffeine gets into my body, the sadness gets past through to my soul. It would take me almost an hour to finish my coffee, my last sip would be as cold as the twilight breeze. That was the first part of my daily contemplation. After my coffee, I would grab our family guitar lying behind me atop our messy shoe rack. I would then start playing random chords, random lyrics anything that comes into my mind I would sing it out. For hours I would sing. I would shout, I would hum and I would scream my lungs out. I am no singer, I don’t have the voice that takes to be one but it became my way to express my misery. It became my escape. Every afternoon it became my routine, to have coffee then do a “concert” (as what my parents would say) with my guitar. My parents would think that I was just enjoying the moment of being home for the summer, little did they knew it was something more than that. I could only imagine how terribly sad I was back then. How every song I would play was a cry for help. How every lyrics that I would sing were actually my subconscious telling how bad I hated the world for no particular reason. It was horrifying. After hours of unleashing the demons, I don’t feel any redeeming relief. There was nothing good about it neither after it, just back to being empty and boring. It was just like an opening ceremony to my deep and darkest nights. I was then sleep deprived doing exactly nothing but being sad and would wake up late at noon so I don’t do much. Just those so called concert. Me singing with my guitar, equipped with coffee, was the worst part of my day but I seemed to have been looked for it everyday. Thus, it became a habit for that summer. A bad habit I couldn’t control. My life is plainly boring but this is one of few horrifying times of my life.

Those days were gone now, I survived without even trying. I guess it just fades, or pauses, I don’t really know. What I know is that the depression, it’s still there. But not as bad as those days. I had came to accept that I just have to live with it. If I can’t defeat my demons, I just have to tame it.

 

Yesterday, I came home again for the summer. Just like the old days, I was having my coffee in the balcony. Not really depressed, just reminiscing those awful days and enjoying the peaceful vibe of being home. Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a guitar, our family guitar. On the other end of the balcony, I saw my younger brother. As he picked it up, the guitar gave a hard strum. In that instant, I felt chills as I remembered the horror of my sadness back then. I listened to him play as my dark old thoughts came back to life, then he started singing. Gentle but roughly calm as he caress every strings it almost felt painful, then heavy. And heavier. He gave me a gaze, a familiar look. I flinched. My brother is sad. I can see it in his eyes, those were the eyes of my exact same misery. He is depressed. He was singing, shouting, screaming his lungs out, crying for help. Just like what I use to do back then. It hit me paralysed by the overwhelming sadness and thoughts like it was about to explode. I was so focused on my own sufferings that I forgot the people around me. The people that truly matters to me.


AUTHOR’S BIO

The writer wishes to remain anonymous.

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