The Art of Depression (Pt.2)

I found this Google searching "anxiety art". While it accurately expresses
the disorder, it also poignantly captures depression's infuriating clutch

He's slowly waking up to the morning hollow;

the tears tasted sour and so did the air.

should he arise or stay in bed's fictioned warmth?

cold was the season and life's spark left him dead.

This stanza is an exert from a poem I wrote long ago. It's somber, bleak, and beautiful. In it a man struggles with understanding his identity and accepting the dreary winter. He's a hopeless mess. "His frost-born brain iced away time/like trees--not losing leaves, but love". Poignant, gorgeous, and miserable. Who is this man? 

It's not me, but he's very similar to the me that wrote it. The character is my thought-child, therefore he is part of me, but not wholly me; and I'll deny that my characters are ever myself, no matter how much they resemble me. 

The same could be said about my battle with depression. Did I ever have depression? Though I was never diagnosed, I definitely say yes. My early high school years were an ugly time filled with dark thoughts. It was a perpetual downward spiral; I always felt controlled, nothing was enough, nobody really cared for me. My dad--my math teacher--would make me count on the white board how many times I smiled in a day (usually under ten). I was enveloped in acting, trying to infuse my soul with my characters (displacing your soul is heavy work). I'd voraciously critique myself, hoping to avoid the pain associated with letting others down. My mother called me moody and my dad and I fought, but to me that was easier than admitting mental illness: some chemical imbalance estranging me from family and friends. 

Sure, I had highs, but with the lows were frequent and agonizing. I didn't have to hide them, but I tried, because if other people could see them, then they would know something was wrong. And there was already plenty wrong with me.

Something was wrong with me.

Eventually, I saw a therapist, started to realize the atonement's power, and began to "lighten up". Life became beautiful, and I a happier person. It's all over now. I currently love life. I haven't felt truly depressed in probably 4-5 years. 

But this post isn't about how I conquered depression (though I did). It's not even about how awful having it is (because it is). It's about how beautiful it is. I don't know if you can read British Romantic literature without catching depressed tendencies in the protagonists. You can't listen to a true break-up song without hearing the illness' sputtering moan. Starry, Starry Night doesn't look right if Van Gogh wasn't a little crazy. Art connects with the soul so intimately because it presses the our emotions' reaches until we feel something naturally eternal. Mother goose's childhood purity, Stravinsky's brilliant climaxes, and A Clockwork Orange's deprecating self-portrait. Depression has a thrill, a lasting truth that exclaims beauty equal to joy's light--it just goes the other way.

MUSIC

Above is a link to Sufjan Steven's "The Only Thing". It's a lovely piece discussing a man flirting with suicidal thoughts, tortured by recollections of his lost love. The music surges passion into your heart, and the lyrics tug at your empathy. The orchestration and sound mixing creates a delicate mist to wander in, and you wonder how something so horrid could be so poetic. Well, I wouldn't say Sufjan is truly depressed. This is the same man who wrote "Come on! Let's Boogey to the Elf Dance!" But he obviously knows how it feels. He uses those emotions to create art. It may be raw, but it is true, and real, and everything you'd like.

THEATER

Othello doesn't directly engage with beastly Depression, but it does torment the viewer. (SPOILER) Othello kills Desdemona, his innocent wife, because he believes Iago's evil whisperings. The audience views in horror as he denies every alternative before he slays his wronged wife. It's cruel and painful to watch, but you can't deny the play's greatness. The play purposefully confuses Iago's evil with accomplishment, making the audience ponder the classic questions "why do good things happen to bad people? Why do bad things happen to good people?" and while excellently portrayed in Othello, little is more depressing than that

THOUGHT

"Maybe they're right"

Perhaps Psychology is a science academically, but it's studying an art form. This particular thought rampaged my mind during my depressed days, and now occasionally slips through cracks during weak moments. It was almost always connected to my family. While many friends will exclaim my greatness, often my family gives little reassurance that I'm excelling. It has always been difficult, to say the least--having the people I care most about most not bother to let me know I'm doing good in their eyes. And if I attempted to break down the wall I'd be called "sensitive" and "emotional". I can get chewed out by my boss, I can get disgraced by a professor, but I am intensely motivated by the idea that I could make my family, God, and loved ones proud. But if I let their impassive observance get to me, "maybe you're right" jumps into my mind, and every accolade and joyful shred becomes dust.

Depression has claimed your life sludge. You are guilty for not being enough, then ashamed for not trying hard enough. Even when you realize you are thinking with depressed perspective, depression oppresses you for doing so, slashing you for your weakness. The thought process is horrifying. It is impressive. Depression is anything but beautiful, but it proves itself powerless, because it empowers itself by beautiful things. It dethrones that which it uses to raise itself. Depression uses logic, intuition, counterargument, all the same tools given to us by God, the source of light. Its sound argument that you are worthless is the same argument God uses to argue you are worth everything. And when your life includes God, you cling to the good.

It should be noted that I love my family, and I recognize their love frequently. 

Depression contains truth. And anywhere you find truth, you can find real knowledge. And that is a beautiful thing.