Art is in everything around us. The calligraphy on the cover of the book that lies in front of you, the dull vertically stripped cloth that clings to the frames of your sofa, the diagonal joints of the photo frame holding onto the picture that is dearest to you, the holes of the socket where you plug in your cell phone to power it up, the tube of ointment you use to apply on your wounds, the Happy Birthday card that stands on a corner of your table to remind you of your best friend, the wooden puppet that stays still until you touch it and the embroidery on the clothes that you wore to work today. Art glorifies everything in this world, even the death, even in death. Art exalts everything that is in nature and everything that a man can understand. Art takes birth in the minds of humans, uses them to get nourished and be released back into the sanctuary of Mother Nature. In those minds we also have the origins of emotions. Emotions that can either build us or ruin us. Most of the times, it is the story of ruins. And ruins again generate another battery of emotions that are so derailed from the origin that in search of their mothership, they fall into a loop. It is a combination of “listening to your favourite song back-to-back until you start hating it”, “repeating the same thoughts over and over until you make them sound truer than before irrespective of them being pseudo or not” and “Finding Nemo” without Dory, not even since the beginning. It is only when you breakdown looking at a thoughtful post having a painting of a girl with a smudged head, not only face, wearing a white coloured top and yellow coloured skirt that you understand that you are in depression.
Depression is you having the capability to chisel out a sundae out of a mountain but being unwilling to even spit out the hair strand that accidentally got into your mouth. Distraction from your thoughts is the cure for your depression but you muster all your strength to concentrate on looping. It is nothing but playing basketball with a boulder instead of a ball. Anxiety practically ditches you. Even Numb by Linkin Park won’t match your numbness. It is basically sugar cubes refusing to be sweet.
Just like a leech, depression feeds on your inability to stop enjoying your own sorrow. It is something like seeing a painting depicting grief and thinking of yourself in it and wondering how you are grieving without even understanding what the artist who painted it must have actually seen in the muse. In short, it is self-inflicted pain where you are not sensing the prick. You are numb, you see. You are so used to this situation and one fine day when you realise that you need to go and get a life for yourself, you are in a dilemma about which life to get because you have turned from a human into a dog, a dog that was chasing its own tail. So, you need to break out of the loop and stop romanticizing depression along with pain.
Being disgusted with depressing thoughts is more effective than being dreadful of them. Depressing thoughts are like those bastard printers that sense your dread like urgency and print d…a…m…n… slow. Squint at them, flick them off your shoulders, say ewwww and move on. Next time they find you again, don’t be a dog.
Image courtesy: Music is Art