I once had someone tell me that I just liked being “depressed.” Well, I suppose there’s a fine line between learning to live with something and learning to thrive in it. Also, there’s a certain amount of pride that wouldn’t allow me to admit it, because it was intended as defeat. In my mind, it was simply a misunderstanding of the adjective; “depression” is not a cage, it’s a superpower.
I’ve always felt a certain sense of suspicion towards the normal or stable, perhaps because I’ve always felt like I was looking at it from the underbelly of humanity — hanging on by a thin thread. I can’t relate to it, nor do I want to.
Comfort with one’s instability requires a certain abandon of idealism, from oneself as much as from others. It’s the gradual letting go of the cord that so easily binds, and flying free. The greatest sense of relief is found in noticing the potential within the cracked and broken, the bruised and those who mutter to themselves, who spend more time in memory than in reality, and who would like a thousand unattainable do-overs. The nectar of the abnormal drives me. Those who can harness their pain and turn it into art or artful living, possess a power to captivate.
I love the sense of angst that drips from the typewriter of Ginsberg, who howled from inside of the confines of mental instability, shouting to a rapidly changing world. Lost inside and out, his words resonate for the earthly pilgrim in search of a place to rest, to love, to breathe. I can only assume there are those who feel no need to howl or mourn or pull their hair out over some great lingering question mark before them, but I do.
I love the voice of Nina Simone, who sings (outside of a Confessional) her darkest deeds in repentance to a God she doesn’t know, or forgot, or abandoned. Or the belabored pause between a phrase, a well timed gasp that reveals a momentary revelation or release — a thousand hours spent crying over a lost lover.
I love the act of love in the midst of loss. The driving force behind Mother Teresa, who could hold someone on the verge of death in her arms and speak purpose; a minuscule woman in stature, who could sacrifice her life (31,765 days) to selfless abandon in the face of doubt and sadness and times of wrestling with her God at the injustice of it all. That’s abnormal beauty.
Call “it” what you like, but it has trickled through humanity, driving its subjects to creative expression. The most beautiful works of art weren’t created after mountaintop experiences. It’s the deepest depths of human experience that produce the greatest pieces, and those self-aware enough to capture those moments and translate them for the rest of us tap into the essence of struggle and live. Beauty is often born from ashes.
(Words and Art by Amanda)
You’re such an “angel-headed hipster yearning for that ancient heavenly connection”!
Seriously, though, what a great piece: “Depression is not a cage, it’s a superpower.” Such a good line.
Excellent work, I really hope this gets a wide readership, because people need to hear this kind of thing more than they do.
It’s funny, because the highest response I ever got on my blog was when I wrote about depression and God. It’s always seen as an excuse or sin, but it’s a real issue and while I can do what I can to better it, I can also learn to thrive in it. I love that gives me X-ray vision into the soul. Everything is amplified – the high and the low.
BTW, you’re lucky I love that Ginsberg line, since you stole my other tattoo idea.
Absolutely liberating. Bravo!
Great word. You speak my language. That deserves a re-read.
Depression is a superpower. Wow. That one will keep me thinking for days.
Noelle, Thank you. I love the opportunity to speak my heart – this is a tremendously freeing platform. Bill – Thank you, I sincerely appreciate the compliment. Josh – it’s funny, it never occurred to me until I wrote it.
“…who spend more time in memory than in reality, and who would like a thousand unattainable do-overs.”
These words resonate within me profoundly.
Christian, anyone who loves the “Before Sunrise” series as much as you, can understand the pain of the past.
“Those who can harness their pain and turn it into art or artful living, possess a power to captivate.”
This shit is off the hook, girl. Thank you. I basically struggled with depression since I was 8 years old. Wanted to kill myself for about 20 years and now I’m done with that nonsense. I knew I could turn that darkness into light and I fucking DID it.
People like you, speaking out and being real, are who helped me along through the mire. Thank you.
Melissa I too have struggled for years and only started getting help a few years ago, on my own. I felt my kids deserved a better mom. I’m glad it resonated with you – not that you have struggled with it – but that you can relate to it and be encouraged. Harness it and make it a strength -it can be lived out in so many beautiful ways.
Thank you is just not enough, your words touch on feelings and concepts that I failed to have words to express. Like others I have struggled with depression on and off since middle school. Over the years I have learned how to manage it and keep it within safe parameters the best that I can. In the past, during several different episodes, I struggled with thoughts of suicide and deep despair. God literally keep me from killing myself on several occasions and I am overwhelmed by the mercy He showed my loved ones. It grieves me and humbles to the core that me to have hung by such a fragile string of sanity; but God was faithful and in that I can’t express the liberating power that comes from totally dependence on Him. Life has been painful, but with out it my life would be void of some of my most defining moments and of depth. It is the prime catalyst for creativity, and for healing others. I refuse to wallow in it anymore. “…depression” is not a cage, it’s a superpower.”
Sara, Thank you for your transparency. God has shown me so much about Him through this struggle. I don’t mean that in a pat, concise, God-gave-me-a-verse-to-cling-to kind of way, but something real and substantial. I had always been taught that depression was a result of sin in my life and I got so sick of constantly trying to figure out what it was, that I just walked away from God in my heart. As I share in my story, “365” (coming out soon), my therapist asked me, “Do you think it’s any easier for God to win back the heart of a woman, than it is for a man?” It floored me that God would fight for my love. It changed me and set me free. The depression still lingers, but I’m reminded that I am worth something great to God.
Profound. Makes things weightless. I don’t think I’ve read anything that says so much about being what you are so succinctly.
“I bet God spends the bulk of his time up in heaven just screaming his head off at all his so-called followers with their fake smiles and stiff upper lips, as if admitting being lonely or depressed is some kind of concession of defeat or surrender. If I were God, I’d find no greater source of entertainment than just raining shit-storms of pestilence and woe on these people as long as they refuse to be real, or show any real emotion. I’d be all, ‘Oh, you’re too ashamed to admit that Jesus hasn’t fixed your sense of isolation? Bam! Try diabetes on for size. Keep it up, and I’ma give your dog rabies so he has to be put down.’”
(Brody Graham)
Well, we can all be glad that Jason isn’t God. Pooka, thank you for your encouragement. Sometimes just writing it all down is therapy enough.