I’ve always been fascinated by the ouroboros and the phoenix, two powerful symbols of endless cyclicality and rebirth. For me, the self-devouring serpent and the self-immolating avian personify the topsy-turvy nature of life and serve as important reminders that sometimes things will go your way, and sometimes they won’t. The more turbulent emotional nadirs and apexes you hit though, the harder it gets to differentiate when one cycle ends and another begins; sometimes those low points of life just seem to drag on longer than they’re supposed to.
Two years is a long time to spend in a rut.
Two years ago, I broke off all contact with the best and worst thing to ever happen to me. I had previously been madly in love, idealistic to the point of provoking gag-reflexes, and confident in the inherent good of mankind. The months after the break-up, on the other hand, were characterized by self-loathing, paranoia, and confusing post-breakup sex. The one-sided nature of my “friendship” with my ex was damaging to the point that I gave up on her entirely, though her presence on campus continued to haunt me despite my best efforts to avoid her. Compared to my previous love-addled state, I became emotionally numb to the world around me. After all, it’s easier to protect yourself if you choose not to invest too much in anything, or anyone. In the span of a few short months I converted from a lofty romantic into a bitter, reserved shell as I abandoned cherished ideals and aspects of my life that I held dear simply because they reminded me of her too much.
Somewhere down the line I started to believe the preposterous, self-centered idea that self-destruction was a good method of recovering from love trauma. I indulged in excessive drinking, excessive smoking, and self-inflicted cutting, masked publicly by deflecting those subjects away with a twisted sense of humor and the construction of a false external persona. The sting from a razor pales in comparison, though, to the inaction from those you consider your friends, especially when they stand by idly while you slowly tear yourself apart. It became a reiteration of the disastrous attempt at friendship with the woman broke me; “Laugh and the world laughs with you, weep and you weep alone.”
When you’re down in the pits though, it’s easy to lose sight of the good that comes out of emerging from misery. I’ve traded the harmful addictions for better ones: music, literature, politics. I gave up on photography after the break-up, but I’ve since switched my creative outlet to writing instead; I’m not very good, but I’m getting better. It’s taken a long, long time, but I’m starting to figure out that I’m not defined by my inadequacies. In losing the love of others, I’ve gotten better at figuring out who is deserving of mine. When friends fail you in time of need, you learn how to tell the difference between the sycophants and the ones who will stand up for you. Duality exists in all walks of life, and Newton’s Third Law applies to depression as well.
The world will break you down, but only if you let it.