I woke up Saturday in a morose mood. Quite the opposite of my mentality only a couple of days before, I looked at my life as garbage...so much trash to be taken out and disposed of. I felt I had been living in an insanely stupid manner, and that I needed to man up and get back to the grind of life that everyone in America faces. I thought my sullenness to be due to my current lifestyle, though I know it to be something else. No matter what stage in life I've been in - whether having many friends, a good job, a place to stay, ample food, entertainment, a wife, a faith in god, or having none of these things, I always find myself deep in melancholy.
Call it Bipolar disorder, call it a malady of the soul, call it demonic oppression or whatever you will, it happens. A terrible dysphoria overwhelms me. I begin to think that everyone I know sees through me, that they see the "real" me, which must be some kind of terrible, horrific person. A person not worth the air he breathes. These people see me and try everything they can to avoid me...or if they do engage in conversation, it's only due to sheer pity. Nobody wants me in their life and they're right not to.
My ability to think becomes severely limited...bogged down as if my thoughts are filtering through some syrup. It is a painful experience with no real external reason to feel pain. It's to exist in darkness, to doubt everything about your personality and moral character. At its worst, it goes even beyond pain to a state of uncomfortable numbness. And in this state of "unfeeling," thought hardly occurs. I am listless, I am without energy, I try to slip through the cracks of reality to hide in some unseen crevice. When a thought does come, it usually manifests as some emotionless suicidal ideation. I don't contemplate suicide at this point as tied to mental affect - I don't think "Everyone hates me."
I don't feel sorry for myself. I don't hurt. It simply seems like the expedient choice for me at that point is to complete the journey into nothing. As if some part of me already exists in this non-existence, and it beckons for me to follow it into the serenity of what is nothing other than a void. Suicide seems like a math equation, 2+2=4. Kasey + Life = Suicide. Or something asinine like that.
I had an obligation that day, however. To go play music at an open showcase there at the Downtown Diner. And to play at the Farmer's Market. I struggled with my mental demons...then finally got on with the day. Thought it wasn't immediate, playing the music slowly elevated my mood. And to my surprise, downtown was bustling with the movement of people setting up market stands, advertising everything from insurance to sno cones. It was kids day.
Rather than make me anxious, the unexpected event lifted my mood. It was the chaos of the unexpected that coaxed my being back into life. I played my music at the diner, met some new friends, and they gave me a T-shirt. I fought the rain and played the Farmer's Market, and when I saw the people smiling, or dancing, I remembered why I played music. It was for others. It was to lift their spirits. To bring a bit of happiness, or a bit of mysterious camaraderie, to move them away from the depths of despair that in some way threaten all of us.
