I'm gonna have to cut a lot out of this post due to countless personal experiences contributing to this subject.
Music can be depressing, right? I could name a lot of bands out there.
Music releases a chemical in the brain called: "dopamine". Dopamine is the 'feel-good' chemical, released also when doing drugs, playing video games, and crying. (That's what I've personally researched so far.)
I'm gonna throw this out there. I used to cut myself.
Whenever I did, I would listen to the most depressing music I knew of. The stuff that made me cry even harder. I'm in love with music, so I'm really addicted to this 'dopamine'. Music is my drug. Crying is also something I "love" to do. It's not often, but I still love a good cry.
Maybe all of this dopamine caused me to think I was also in love with my depression?
I'm not exactly sure of the relevance of depression and dopamine, or if they could even be related.
But I'm positive that I thought I was in love with my depression.
"Motions and Memories"
Dying is the only way,
Dying is my wish today.
This, my eyes, is clearly truth,
I should turn my own life loose.
Remove motions, memories;
Please, do listen, to my pleas.
I hate fear and selfishness,
I get up and have to dress...
Call my name, just one last time;
We glide forever in the chimes.
Through the motions, memories,
I climb up to all my pleas...
And tell the light,
What I think is right.
And flea from my self-pity.
"Gone"
I hate you
I hate you so much
I'm gonna cut you
I'm gonna fuck you
And that's all I hear
I'm blind and I can only hear
She won't leave me
And the only way
Is if she dies
So I have to die
No one will step up to the plate
To shoot me down
The rage keeps on coming
I'll do it myself then
It's too much to take
And she says,
I'll do it for you
But make it look like suicide
I'm not stupid
I'm not stupid
I'm not stupid
I'm not stupid
So I realized,
I am mental
I am crazy
I am gone, lost
"Death, My Love"
Why is life like this?
Death close enough to kiss...
I've been wanting to say;
I don't have the choice to stay.
Death is my love,
And I need to go.
I want to dream,
But life destroys hope.
"White to black",
Sings the feat.
"Crawling back,
No time to bleed."
Death comes home,
It's time to go.
I love my blood,
I hate you all.
Fighting's not what's worth the chance.
I won't decide with a second glance.
Keep me here, you try to do.
But holding me, will just hurt you.
The sun is high, but soon will set.
Burning flesh, my nose has met.
Oh, I don't want to live,
But I don't want to die!
Please leave me be,
Please say goodbye!
"Cry of Addiction"
A knife I have borrowed,
To my wrist it persues.
Its ridges cut shallow,
No blood does come through.
It still hurts like hell,
But it's better than words.
They come deep from my throat,
And spread out to slurs.
The knife cuts my wrist,
My hand controls this.
When I feel done
And my pain has won,
I lick my own wounds,
I make them sing.
But nothing is worse,
Than a lemon's sting.
So I squeeze the juice
To make physical abuse;
It's like ten times more
Than that of before.
I don't want to stop,
It's like some addiction.
I breathe in and out,
But my life's like a fiction.
So I take the knife,
I cut and I cry.
But it's better than words,
Even when lies.
These poems reveal much. (I wrote them, so please: no republishing without giving credit to me and a link to my blog.) But they don't scream that I was "in love" with my depression.
I went through all my stuff... but really, I remember thinking that I was. That I loved cutting. That I loved the feeling of a broken heart... even if I broke it myself.
Depression has roots of hundreds of reasons. Mine started with extreme guilt.
I've grown up in a Christian family. We went to church, pretended that our life was okay with warm smiles and greetings, etc. (I say that because recently my parents divorced-- it was Biblical, though.)
I had to pretend to pretend. I had to lie. I had to act innocent.
But that was everything I wasn't. In a sense, by seven years old, I lost my virginity. I have few memories about my young childhood... but nothing comes to mind. It's blank. And yet a whole bunch of family members remember when they were three or four!
(A quote from Evanescence's beautiful Understanding):
"You hold the answers deep within your own mind. Obviously, you've forgotten it. That's the way the human mind works. Whenever something is too unpleasant, too shameful for us to entertain, we reject it. We erase it from our memory... but the imprint is always there."
I know something happened. I was innocent once. There's no way I just came up with the undivided attention to s_x and wanting b__bs. Something happened. Someone did something. I faintly remember being baby-sat... my brothers were already in bed, but whoever was baby-sitting me let me stay up to play chess. Of course, I didn't know how to play. He won, and then I had to put my pajamas on. I was bare-naked, searching for my nightgown. I remember it had fallen behind my bed... and I was reaching to get it, but the baby-sitter touched my butt. I laughed, thinking it was some sort of joke.
This memory scares me. It's the faintest one I have. Was it a nightmare? Or is it the only piece I remember of what I've forgotten; whatever my mind has rejected?
Again, I cannot go into great detail. This thing happens to many, many girls and boys around the world. It makes me sick. Where did innocence go?
(Quoting Evanescence's beautiful Field of Innocence):
"I still remember the world, from the eyes of a child. Slowly, those feelings were clouded by what I know now. Where has my heart gone? An uneven trade for the real world! Oh I, I want to go back to: believing in everything, and knowing nothing at all."
"Where has my heart gone? Trapped in the eyes of a stranger!"
This is a truly meaningful song. My favourite lines are: "Where has my heart gone? An uneven trade for the real world!"
It's truth. Now that I have knowledge of this world, I would do anything to erase it. Because now, I'm doing everything to fight it within my mind. And it's so hard.
I can go on and on about depression. I love depressing movies, (usually with bullying, crying, self-abuse [cutting], a nostalgic feeling, and especially mental disorders), I love depressing books, (right now I'm reading "Speak" by Laurie H. Anderson), and I love to write depressing stories. I tried writing a happy one once... it totally didn't turn out. Haha, it just ended up being depressing!
I've stopped cutting myself for over a month now. I read the Bible daily, and I know it says that self-abuse is (let's put it into easy words:) bad. I understand this, and I want to follow this "rule", and I know deep down I'll probably never go back to it.... but there's something inside of me holding on so desperately to cutting. The thought of doing it... the lust of it... the beautiful lace reds... hiding it from people... the sting...
I never ever thought that "I need to do it", or that "I have to do it". It's always been, "I want to do it".
By the way, speaking of mental disorders, when I first realized my depression, I was convinced that I had schizophrenia. I even took online tests, and I scored in the range of the beginnings of it. That dropped when I started to explore more mental disorders. I loved, and am in love, with the idea of them. Later I thought I had a bipolar disorder. Next, it was multiple personalities... and that one stuck the longest. I had reasons behind all of this, but let's just keep my craziness on the down-low. (LOL > too late!)
Please know that I am not trying to get attention or anything. I'm perfectly fine now because I have a Savior in my life. I always have, just wasn't accepting enough.
I wrote this for a friend. And I'm sure others out there might feel the same way as me. I think the best way for one to sympathize/empathize is to have had your own experiences. With this, you can back up giving advice and help to people in need (who maybe don't even want help). <3
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