$80
Don’t let that Depression Sink in.
I’m sorry. I can’t be as funny with this one—yet. Weeping & typing juxtaposed wet & slow.
I’ve lost friends & a brother to suicidal depression.
In recent, reaching past, YEARS of mine, lost among oozing darkness. 15-hour dreams of anything but my own head. The irony doesn’t escape me—neither could I.
False hope saved me from the razor’s edge in a bathtub full of madness.
Please, I love you—don’t let that Depression Sink in!
This sic quote literally saved my life:
“All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously.”
At the time Switters had disputed her assertion. Even at seventeen, he was aware that depression could have chemical causes.
“The key word here is roots,” Maestra had countered. “The roots of depression. For most people, self-awareness and self-pity blossom simultaneously in early adolescence. It's about that time that we start viewing the world as something other than a whoop-de-doo playground, we start to experience personally how threatening it can be, how cruel and unjust. At the very moment when we become, for the first time, both introspective and socially conscientious, we receive the bad news that the world, by and large, doesn't give a rat's ass. Even an old tomato like me can recall how painful, scary, and disillusioning that realization was. So, there's a tendency, then, to slip into rage and self-pity, which if indulged, can fester into bouts of depression.”
“Yeah but Maestra—”
“Don't interrupt. Now, unless someone stronger and wiser—a friend, a parent, a novelist, filmmaker, teacher, or musician—can josh us out of it, can elevate us and show us how petty and pompous and monumentally useless it is to take ourselves so seriously, then depression can become a habit, which, in tern, can produce a neurological imprint. Are you with me? Gradually, our brain chemistry becomes conditioned to react to negative stimuli in a particular, predictable way. One thing'll go wrong and it'll automatically switch on its blender and mix us that black cocktail, the ol’ doomsday daiquiri, and before we know it, we’re soused to the gills from the inside out. Once depression has become electrochemically integrated, it can be extremely difficult to philosophically or psychologically override it; by then it's playing by physical rules, a whole different ball game. That's why, Switters my dearest, every time you've shown signs of feeling sorry for yourself, I've played my blues records really loud or read to you from The Horse’s Mouth. And that’s why when you’ve exhibited the slightest tendency toward self-importance, I’ve reminded you that you and me— you and I: excuse me—may be every bit as important as the President or the pope or the biggest prime-time icon in Hollywood, but none of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let’s not get carried away with ourselves. Preventive medicine, boy. It’s preventive medicine.”
“But what about self-esteem?”
“Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you’re a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace—and maybe even glory.”
― Tom Robbins, Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates
Caption for photo 1: It’s such a small moment, when depression first knocks at your door.
Caption for photo 2: Depression is a sleepy kind of sadness, sucking your every being into vast, empty nothing.
Caption for photo 3: Almost getting over existential depression be like...
Caption for photo 4: Turn away from depression. It’s not yours. It’s the shit the world shovels to shadow the surface of your soul. You’re never the shit on your surface—ever. You are the beauty inside! Also, look, random bagged hardware. Well, random to me, but not to the Depression Sink. Depression Sink is sorry for all the pain it causes you.
Online, depression is everywhere, but this kind runs $80 new. Art adds value to this world, so I'll be taking the best offer higher than $80. I’m also open to interesting trades.
I'm selling a house full of stuff. Each piece will be numbered, signed with DNA infused ink, & come with a snarky/silly/thoughtful/ranty/whatever post. I'm playing a game of chicken with entropy. 100 years from now (or whenever/ifever), I hope someone is inspired to bring all the pieces back together for one silly-ass art exhibit that helps to show us that our lives can come back together, no matter what happens to us. Individually, each piece is meant to bring the comfort of knowing—even in chaos, we always have a place in this Universe, given that its entirety is our home.
To go along with this project, I’m writing a reality-meets-fiction telling of the process—in the sci-fi genre, of course. If you buy a piece, you get a free copy of the book, & if it pleases you, I’ll likely put you into the story.
One final thought on economics. Early investors win more & lose less. If this catches on, that $80+ could grow into $5k in only a few dozen months. Also, others realizing this will drive that $5k even higher. I mean, who doesn’t want to be part of a future quest?!
