What Kind of Depressed Are You Looking For?

Sometimes acts of passion have serious consequences. Love itself is the very commitment to enduring all the negative things that are bound to happen to a couple. The struggle to overcome the horrible energies and karma of the world – because God forbid someone love easily – is a fight that never seems to end. It appears that everything will try to pull you apart, and you’re constantly trying to prove your strength. You convince yourself that it’s worth fighting for, worth risking everything for, worth every drop of water in your system turned to sweat from the effort. It’s worth it, because love is what makes life worth it, right?

But what about when you decide that it’s too hard. Every drop of sweat going into the relationship slowly drains you away, and suddenly you’re turning into a hollow shell; you’re unsure of what you are and what you’re made of.. So you decide to quit, to leave. It’ll give you all your energy back. You’ll be alive again. You’ll be free.

It’s fine at first, and then you suddenly realize that the hollow parts that you thought were draining you can never be filled. You realize that the void was better when you emptied it for a cause – a valid attempt to conquer the world through corny love. Now it’s empty because you’re missing the person, because they’re not there. There are no ways to express the pain, the hurt, the regret, the void except the use of excessive cuss words and a range of songs from Taylor Swift to My Chemical Romance. The growth of the superstar’s success vs the tragic remnants of the band’s breakup overwhelm you – life vs death.

You then realize that life is going to drain you. Every day of your life is another bit of effort taken out of you. Your telomeres dissolve and you’re sweating every day that you lie in bed waiting for him to come back, to forgive your impulsive need to escape. You try to remind him of the good times; you try to remind yourself, too. Sometimes you remember the things that drained you, though: the way he texted while you kissed his neck, the way he would always walk in front of you. You compare what you felt then to what you feel now.

They say that the pain goes away with time, but it’s not true; you’ll always regret that you left. So what’s worse? Fighting for the cause or fighting to forget it?

What kind of depressed are you looking for?


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