“In the grey, grey ghost that I call home.” - Mike Doughty
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Most creative people, I would suppose, are prone to bouts of melancholy from time to time; the old “artist’s temperament,” as it’s called.
I myself tend to keep a fairly tight screw upon the lid of my emotions, allowing a proper perspective and fear of being dubbed a drama queen from letting me spew out my most random and unfounded negative thoughts upon the world. This in part is probably due to a fear of having the closest and dearest to me sense that I’m not as well as I project myself to be. And truly, despite whatever dark places my mind can briefly visit, I’m never going to slide some broken glass down my arm or swallow a bunch of harmful pills. I’m far too pragmatic and have too much passion for life for any such nonsense.
But it’s true, I find myself dipping into that mood of darkness on more occasions than I care to admit, a cyclical, spiraling pit of self-aggrandized despair based on goals unachieved, pangs of general and specific regret, and overall avoidable loneliness.
Perhaps with just a humble request to a friend, or even a minor dose of medication, these thoughts wouldn’t fester as long or repeat as often as they do. Maybe these thoughts are brought on by the illusions of social media, unnecessary comparisons to the lives of others, and just all around immaturity. Or maybe I’m just an asshole who thinks too much about how his great life isn’t as wonderful as he believes it should be. Or of course, at my most honest and true, I am just that cliché of a younger sibling craving acceptance and attention from a faceless society, which, when delivered, still would not be enough to prevent these thoughts from recurring.
No point here really, other than to let loose the valve a bit and release some of the built-up pressure. For those of you with real problems, try not to hesitate in asking for help. Support is just a phone call away.