Desperate Cry of a Hungry Soul

These past few days – or was it for months? -, I felt so down and I still slightly am. My mind wandered aimlessly from thought to thought without settling on a definite conclusion. I lost focus. I couldn’t concentrate much on reality because when I did, I ended up doing or saying stupid things that I now regret. I filled my days with dullness and with every heavy step, I went through my tedious daily routine. Whenever I work, I got easily distracted.

I lack motivation and inspiration. I can’t even remember the reason of my everyday existence. I can’t also recall the last time I feel happy and declared it. My laugh seems fake, a response when I can’t think of anything to say or an automatic reaction to something that is supposed to be funny. Every single day, I feel that my breaking point is near, that one day, I would just have to give up.

But just as I was about to crawl into the familiar depths of self-pity and nearing the gates of lunacy, close high school friends suddenly messaged me to ask advice for a personal problem I know nothing of, to say that something reminds them of me or to just simply tell me something outrageously nonsense. It’s absolutely random and out-of-the-blue. Is this God’s way of saving me from the pits of depression? If so, I don’t know how to feel about it.

Of course, I have to be grateful and I am. Yet somehow, I feel regretful that I am losing grip of sadness which has become more of my friend than my enemy.

It is when I feel lonely that I seek the real me. Melancholy seems to give me the motivation to find the happiness that I have lost. Sadness makes me dig deep within me and write something meaningful. It’s like having to look at a breathtaking scenery that inspires one’s artistic self. You would want to retain it and capture every single detail of it so that even when it has become a mere image, it still tugs at your emotion and fuels your life. Instead of a landscape, the feeling of loneliness gets me sentimental and inspires me to write perfectly imperfect masterpieces. There may be grammar and typographical errors, incorrect usage and misspelling of words, confusion of tenses, overuse of complex sentences, wrong sentence construction, non-parallelism, forced transitions, vague expression of thought and other blunder and grave sin committed against whatever language I use but for me, these masterpieces are my own, a reflection of my inmost self. It is when I am down that my spirit is lifted and I sing poetic songs meant to pierce through broken hearts of fellow wayward travelers.

Now I struggle how to end this. I still feel sad but since I am somehow elevated from my misery because of old friends who, despite not knowing my situation, messaged me at the right moment, I don’t know if I feel hollow or in an outburst of mixed emotion. I am still motivated to write my thoughts but right words evade my grasp. I read and re-read what I wrote here, edited some sentences, altered a word or two to make it look more professional since it would be embarrassing if I make a lot of mistakes, given that I claim to be a writer.

I want to get rid of sadness and find my happiness but if I do, will my soul no longer feed on the bitter taste of utter madness? When I am happy, I am fulfilled which I don’t want to be. I want to continue craving, continue longing and yearning so that I can continue living. Can’t there be a compromise? Can’t I be happy and still possess the insanity that drives my deepest thoughts? We make the choice but am I without any other options?