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Twice as Tall, Twice as Wide

I want to write about my future. Specifically because for a while now I’ve been frightened by the thought of it. Or rather by the thought of what it isn’t. I don’t know exactly where my future is going, but I suppose that’s a problem everyone faces at one point or another, right? Well the problem I see is that when I was younger I was always the person who knew exactly what he wanted to be when he grew up: a filmmaker or an actor. They’re different for sure, but within the same industry and requiring the same kind of commitment. Well in May of this year I hit a bump in my plan: my girlfriend broke up with me. And I know this probably doesn’t seem related at all but I’ll get to that.

It was the first unwanted, unprepared break-up I’ve ever experienced. Whether I wanted the break to occur or not in the past, I was at the very least prepared for it. My past relationships ended either mutually or at a point where I was ready for it to end. This one was different. It was my first true, shit-faced my-life-is-fucking-over break-up I’d ever had. Thinking back on it today, I still believe—no, I know—that there was nothing wrong with that relationship. We were a very healthy couple and it ended because I had separation issues while she was down in Westport being the lead actress in a musical, which only caused me to develop jealousy, loneliness, and an ever expanding depression that I’m still dealing with today. These things in combination ultimately caused her to break things off with me at the worry that I had an unhealthy attachment to her.

So I went to a therapist and a doctor, both of whom agreed I’ve been facing a minor depression for at least a few years now. And that’s something I’ve also considered for a long time. When I looked (and still look) around at my friends, they always seemed so much more on top of their lives. They seemed happier with better relationships with their families. They enjoyed having jobs or playing sports or participating in after-school activities. I didn’t and I wish I did.

The reason I bring up this whole depression issue I’m facing right now is because it’s the biggest part of my life right now and I’m not sure how look it’s going to take for me to fix it. I mean, people don’t stay depressed forever right? Eventually they grow the balls to just stand up and say “No, fuck you, I’m done. I’m going to devote all my time and energy to absolutely destroying you so I can be free to move on with my life,” right? Or maybe it just goes away… I have a really clear metaphor in my head of what this depression is like. Before I acknowledged it, it was like this giant shadow monster. A creature made entirely of pitch blackness that lived on the walls of my room or the corners of my closet, coming out to prod me with its long spiny mandibles—slowly picking away at me, eating my morale and causing me to lose interest in the many healthy aspects of my life.

Uhhh writer’s block.. I was going somewhere with that aaand NOW I REMEMBER!

It was this thing that was always hiding—that’s the key to it. Hiding. It would lurk somewhere that I either couldn’t get at or refused to get at because I didn’t acknowledge it. The big difference now is that when I think of my depression, when I acknowledge it, I see it as the same monster, twice as tall as me and twice as wide—completely pitch black except for two triangular red eyes that are constantly locked on me—right in front of me. No longer hiding, no longer taking cheap shots at me. It’s just standing there directly in front of me, weighing me down with its stupid indirect depression powers.

What I’m trying to say is that I now have my depression in my sights. I can see it. I can acknowledge it. I can fucking FEEL it sometimes. I can actually FEEL my mood change occasionally from super positive into a sulking mess of “I don’t want to hang out with anyone today.” But that’s better, right? I like to think so. I feel like now that’s been acknowledged, I have the ability to fight it. At least I think I do. It’s just a matter of very slowly overcoming its grasp on me and tearing it apart piece by piece. I can see myself one day killing it—literally physically killing it. The next day I feel normal, with a normal amount of happiness and satisfaction of who I am and where I am, that’ll be the day I take a goddamn cleaver to it’s limbs and force it into the light. Into the light of my existence and my regaining control over my own life. A light that will cause it to literally burst into flames and rot away into nothingness, never to touch me again.