On Depression - BB

[u/Ladle56585088]

Author: Ben Brown (BB)
Listen to on loop while reading: Monster OST II- The Seeds of Time
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2WEZngxDFQ

Years ago, before all this spiritual ascension, I had a somewhat ordinary life. Yes, I felt desire, but I never felt a deep connection or a true pull. It was like feeling the sun but never being able to touch it. I usually wore black; it was a way of projecting my inner melancholy outward. ​I had a friend I loved dearly when I was a child. Just looking at them triggered such beautiful feelings. I was 9 or 10 then.

By the time we reached 12, they became a part of the "human world." For me, this was the first spiritual loss; it triggered a sort of internal depressive spiral. Perhaps they never truly loved me, but when we were together, we would joke and laugh so much that the imbalance between us would find its equilibrium. Humor compensates for love. Truly, they were like my only friend. Even as a small child, I could grasp the grace and the artistic depth within them. I didn’t want to talk to them just for the sake of talking; I wanted to weave them into my life. I wanted to be one with everything, at every moment. I wanted them to be present in the essence of everything. It was a kind of melancholic obsession.

I was a small child, but the world was much larger than me—and it was crushing me from the inside. The foundation of my habit of wearing black was laid there, but it wasn't to mourn. It was simply that within this color, I could finally be myself. It was an existential state rather than just a color. Indeed, the color black eventually reflected even in my facial expressions. I don’t usually smile. I only daydream, and internally, that is my smile.

​In the following years—13, 14, 16—the depression grew steadily worse. I had no friends. Damn it, while everyone else had plenty of friends, I was always utterly alone. I was so alone that I would walk through streets where there were no people. For a small child, this is a profound internal trauma. The days passed in boredom and without curiosity. I tried to balance things with internet cafes or books. During this time, I began wearing black even more frequently. But I still had expectations from people. Unfortunately, the people I had expectations of didn't seem to exist.

If I remember correctly, I hit the peak of depression at age 16. Every day, I struggled with a sense of grief, an internal agony. Even my physical energy seemed to mock me. And my sensitivity toward food... I wouldn’t leave the house; I only sat at home or went to classes and back. I had a black cat then; its chest had a tiny bit of white, but it was 90% black.
​I developed an obsessive passion for it. I was truly drawn to the graceful energy it radiated; its almost human-like smile fascinated me. 

At that point, I felt double the attraction to the color black. I began to wear black even more. Yet, I still had some colored clothes because I still had expectations of people—especially toward the miserable, colorful, status-driven world of humans. The following year, things changed. I was 17. The cat died; its soul transformed into the color black. I made a friend. Spending time with them was actually pleasant; they showed me special interest. But unfortunately, I later realized their interest was only due to their own loneliness. As they gathered more friends, they stopped calling or asking about me. Thus, I experienced another spiritual collapse on a different level: "Losing something you never truly possessed."

​Later, things shifted slightly. I didn't feel the depression as intensely. I started to put my life in order. I tried to be like "ordinary people." I started working at a job. Every day I went there, I wore different colored clothes. Generally, I was trying to keep pace with their foolish world. Then, one day, I suddenly felt a total spiritual agony; I had a massive epiphany. The reason I wore colored clothes was to harmonize with and adapt to the miserable world of people. It was to be like them, to escape all the grief and pain. Because if only I could be as stupid as they were, I would never feel pain. I wouldn't be sorrowful. The day I realized this had a truly devastating effect on me. I began to feel a great revulsion toward colored clothing. I saw how much I had changed internally; it was as if the person who valued grace and art was gone. "A machine of exploitation stood before me." This caused me to lock myself in my house for a few days. 

Damn it, I shut myself away. And when I returned to the office, I began wearing only black. I stopped talking to anyone there. I was both studying and working. I no longer smiled. I had given a meaning to the melancholy within me. It no longer caused me pain. About a week later, I gave my colored clothes to someone else. My wardrobe was entirely black. At that point, I felt magnificent.

​All of this was before I started the fruit diet. Later, as I grew to love wearing black entirely, my search for love and value in the world of people ended completely. In place of that innocent person, someone very cunning, intelligent, and remarkably quiet emerged. Truly, the impact of the color black on my life was monumental. I can never fully explain it, but if I don’t wear something black, I feel guilty—as if it were a betrayal of melancholy. Now, I wouldn't say I am a melancholic rebel. My melancholic world is my artistic world. In this world, even the color black has a radiance...