The Black Dog That Keeps on Following Me: Depression and the Shadow of Conformity

If you are going to read this, stop. Think about it. What are you expecting to get out of this? There is nothing below. This is the mad ramblings of a person who suffers from depression. This will just be an unfiltered piece of emotional-verbal puke that landed on your computer screen with some depressing images. This is what depression feels like for me.

My ears ring. I don't know why, they just do. I take a deep breath and throw the vodka mixture in my mouth. It does not burn. I swallow. It does not burn. My head does not feel light. In fact I feel nothing but regret. I feel nothing. Is this not suppose to make you drunk and forget about your shitty situation? I drink another two shots and still I feel nothing. My head does not spin, my eyes only tear up a bit. But I am not crying. I am in a state of I don't know what, I feel nothing. I throw another shot in my mouth, I wait for the burn that usually comes, but nothing. I don't feel anything. I open a beer and walk outside. It is raining, but the sun shines. It is raining, but there are no clouds. The rain is the inside mess I feel at this moment. I look at my hands. They are swollen. Time stands still. I walk until I feel like stopping. The beer in my hand is cold. I don't know what is happening. This is the first time this happens in five or six years. My head feels heavy. I am not drunk.

I am alone. My ears ring constantly. Maybe it is the alcohol. I still feel shit. I look at the sky. It is blue but lonely.

My own existence is so contingent on certain things. For one, that I don't feel like this. Am I alone, the only one that has this feeling? On the one hand, I know this is not true, obviously, a lot of people feels like this, but at this moment I am alone, walking with this fucking black dog on my side that does not want to leave me alone. I drink the last bit of beer and throw the bottle on the ground. When I feel better the next day I will pick it up and laugh at my own stupidity. Is it really stupid though? Not being able to control the stuff that happens in your head? I mean if it was up to me I would tell my brain to produce more of that serotonin or dopamine stuff. But it is not in my control. Fuck you brain. Does it help to give a shit? I don't know, what else can you do? If alcohol cannot take this feeling away, what can you do?

It is in moments like this that you question what you do with your life. Would it not be easier to fit in, walk in the shadows of other people and just not giving a rat's ass about what happens? I see so many people who just live, with no self-awareness. People who just live their lives without ever questioning their existence. But then again, does it help to feel this way over such a mundane thing? Does it really make life better to question why you are here and what you need to do to survive? It is like chess. You are a piece on the board, you can only make certain moves, you cannot be a piece that moves unrestrictedly. The pieces on a chess board are not hampered in by their own feelings of freedom, they don't have freedom. They have a predetermined position and identity that they cannot change. Some people are like the chess pieces. They are happy with their existence, their identity, with their movements. Then there are some people who, firstly, question the game of life or chess, and secondly, question their identity and movements. These people are of a special piece, I don't know the form of that piece. It is more like something that does not exist, they are just ghosts floating in life, in search of some kind of reason or base, but also so sort of basis to be grounded upon and not just floating. But this is never realised because the ghost or person knows it does not exist. This knowledge of non-existence is gathered from the many life experiences that are gathered. In other words, I know from personal experience that it is really hard to find some constant source of happiness. My brain does not allow me to be happy for some reason.

And this is where that black dog that keeps on following you come in. It is like a shadow, it is like a constant reminder. I remember some of my friends also referred to depression as a black dog. You feed the dog until it explodes and then not even the pure relief of alcoholic bliss will relieve the pain of depression on your shoulders. Someone once said depression is like drowning with other people around you still breathing. It is nothing like that (for me). It is more that you feel nothing. You want to feel something, you want to get drunk and spin around and fall on the ground, but you feel nothing. Tears will not come to your face because crying is a feeling, an emotion. You (or I) feel nothing. I am only aware of my existence, sensations of touch, but nothing else. Devoid of emotions.

My ears ring constantly. Rather than searching for relief in the clear liquor, I pour myself a glass of rather expensive scotch single malt whisky. I sit down and look at the sky and drink the whisky. I want to cry, I want to scream, I want to hit my fist against the wall, but all I can do is sip on the whisky and hope that this feeling blows over.

Depression is a lonely battle in your mind. You cannot control it, it controls you. I am who I am because of depression. It is a black dog that pulls you along, the more you feed it the closer it gets to bursting open and pulling you down with it into the void of a depressive hole in your existence. If you fall you can get back up, but every time you stand up again, you question the reason why you need to stand up. After a while you will just lay down in the pit of your blackened existence and nothing will feel like anything again. Breathing will become tedious. Opening your eyes will feel like a job. Depression is not something I wish upon anyone.