Depression is a circle in a spiral. You can talk about it all you like, you can pin point exact feelings and emotions. You can discuss it all, but never solve it. It does, however, create a most fascinating viewpoint that, at least for me, is not usually so transparently clear. Morbid epiphanies become the truth for a while and nothing else really exists.
Science, the discovery of amazing things to do with things bigger and smaller than we ever could have imagined. Cures for cancer, healthier foods, trips to the moon, stronger children, softer clothes. What is the point.
Religion, living to the best of our ability, being respectful, honest, humble and careful. Earning our place, our right to live beyond the years we know, to live beyond this world. What is the point.
How many people do you currently know who are actually happy with their life. So why are we so keen to live on, what for, what is the point. No one has ever given me a satisfactory answer to why they are here, why they want to live. What is this need for survival, the preservation of our lives, of our bloodline? What is this precious human experience, how many people really achieve such a thing.
What causes a man to hack his own arm of in order to survive. Is it hunger, a need for sex, clothes, honour or is it pure fear. For a race that, in my opinion, knows very little, we sure are scared of the unknown.
I am petrified of death, I have seen it, I want to say it sucked the life out of someone I loved, but it didn’t, it was more of a switch and suddenly there was nothing there. Watching machines keep a person alive is a scary thing. Watching them be periodically pumped with oxygen and nutrients, tubes in their hands, arms, neck, chest, seeing their eyes flick open and roll back as they shake and fit until the next dose of drugs come, until the next pump of air comes. To literally decide to give up, to put the plug and watch their body become still.
There is a certain look in the eyes of the dead, almost a flicker of knowledge. It’s not like in the films, you can’t just brush your fingers over their eyes and shut them, they are stiff and hard to close. Dead people don’t look like people at all, they look like skins. Whether you call it a soul, spirit, essence or personality, once you are dead it is very much gone, and you can see it in their face.
When Caz died I felt it. It is a strange kind of guilt you feel when you realise something bad has happened. Realising that no, she didn’t trip and fall, she died. She just died, right there, holding my hand, mid conversation with me in a busy club with “Lolypop” by Lil Wayne playing, what an awful song. There was no point, maybe there is some irony, some twisted humour in the turn of events, but not any real point.
On realising that it was literally a possibility to die at any moment I did a lot of things. I guess I used myself as some sort of experiment to support or disprove my many theories and opinions. The last four years of my life have been utterly insane, I have done so much, experienced more than most other people I know at my age, but I do not feel like I have lived, I do not think I am a step closer to being ready to die. I just know more, I have felt more.
I guess my question would be, why am I here? What am I living for? Is there really no bigger picture? Most of the time I don’t care. Right now, it fascinates me. If I am going to go to heaven, what will I do there, apart from be very happy and sing a lot. What happens after get there and why? Am I just created to exist, to disappoint and be forgiven? Do I exist to experience euphoria, I can’t believe that existence is based on a feeling, to me, the feelings are just the perks of life. Feeling bad or feeling good, there isn’t too much difference, high and low are subjective. What is fear, fear should be worry of pain, pain is uncomfortable, it makes sense not to enjoy it, and fear of anything else is utterly irrational.
I worry that I will never fall in love, get married and have babies. I worry I won’t have enough money, lose enough weight, get enough satisfaction. I worry about experiences, not having enough of them, not creating the formula which I have kidded myself will lead to me eventually feeling fulfilled, like I have completed my life.
I would really like for someone to tell me, what is the point.
When I am happy, I don’t worry about things, I am too happy enjoying life and all that comes my way. Currently, I spend my time analysing Keats poetry and looking at interesting suicide notes. I have become particularly obsessed with Kurt Cobain and Russell Brand; both seem to be tortured by intelligence.
When I am depressed I think more than I speak, I think more than I feel and I think more than I do, ruminating everything obsessively. I believe that it is not possible to think and be happy at the same time. You must accept things and move on, become complacent with ignorance, or be miserable with an insatiable need to understand more.
One thing I realised is that it doesn’t matter how eloquently or vicariously we convey our emotions, people can never understand how we really feel. Sometimes, because of art, music, people allowing us to sympathise with them, we think that we understand what someone else is going through. How silly it all is, the need to make people understand, but the impossibility of it all.
I’ve enjoyed reading suicide notes. I’m almost scared whilst doing it, as if they might trick me into seeing some beauty in my greatest fear. I am scared by the finality of a tattoo, so I am quite safe from ever wanting to kill myself, unless I eventually go completely round the bend. I’ve never come across anyone who was over complicating things and decided to kill themselves. People are often simplifying things or concentrate on a single problem that they do not have the inclination or the volition to deal with. Granted, the magnitude of the problem varies from seemingly insignificant, to dauntingly understandable, but each decision to die follows the same pattern. Even if the situation is complicated, the clarity in the decision that death is the only cure is a simplistic ideology.
It’s been 4 months since I went and had my nose job, so I thought I’d just throw out some progress/things that have happened since I last updated.
My bridge has completely healed now - there were a few scary moments when I could feel ridges along the bone where it had been broken and yet to fuse together, but it’s smooth now (and so straight and thin! Such a win!)
I’ve been having some issues with the tip part of my nose - the very end still feels like someone hit me, and it’s still sort of swollen, but nobody notices, which is good.
There is one thing: nosebleeds. I’ve been too busy to go back to my surgeon, but in the last month, I’ve had some minor nose bleeds in the mornings. It may be down to a cold I’ve had, or to my smoking. I’m not sure. I definitely need to book another appointment and see what is up.
how much did your nose job cost? do you have before and after pics? I really want a nose job! x
My nose cost £4,500 for ‘Open Rhinoplasty’ (this means they pretty much gave me an entirely new nose - broke my bridge down to cutting my cartilage out of my nostrils…) I have some before/after pictures here somewhere - check my archive :) x
your surgery results are absolutely gorgeous! who was your surgeon? i'm having such difficult finding a rhinoplasty surgeon that isn't hesitant to perform more than a "slight tweak." your nose is exactly the look i want!
Thank you! I went with Ms Kallirroi Tzafetta - she’s incredible and was confident in performing my open rhinoplasty…