This story is just one entry of several stories for a collection of essays, poems, journal entries based on adolescence.
Consider an enemy. Now, consider the inevitable thoughts humans have of all the possible ways to murder, maim, emotionally abuse and/or other means of attack, said foe. Now, what if your enemy was you? Yes, yes. We’ve all heard the phrase “you’re your own worst enemy.” Sure, that applies to the circumstances of procrastination or getting yourself into a seeming endless battle with a loved one. However, what if you legitimately abhor yourself; that the thought of you or any situation involving you, sucks all emotional content from your meek soul, enrages the muses of your over-active brain, and all-around weakens your already dwindling immune system?
Meet me. Background is not important, so I don’t dare try to cover that. My self-loathing digs far deeper than the surface of this Theory of the new Emo-Adolescent sub-culture. It reaches the depths of essence, my being. My psyche is constantly being pulled further into the abyss, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I no longer am able to see sunlight, or enjoy life’s simple pleasures. Everything is work for me. Taking a bath…is work. Moving from my couch to my bed requires more energy than I am willing to put forth. Depression? Hardly. Not only has these whiny, attention-seeking teeny-boppers put a bad name on the very-real illness of Depression, but they’ve been able to give the word essentially no meaning, as if it were a word used to describe a girl given the wrong drink at Starbucks, or a child being denied a fourth brownie at the family’s cookout. Significant, painful life changes or tribulations are classified in the same category as trivial, unremarkable everyday events. People underestimate Depression as an affliction, and take for granted the word’s powerful, substantial meaning. It’s a mockery of our culture and of our respect, or lack there of, of the English language. So, “depressed,” I am not. Not all people with severe despondency, as I, wish harm upon themselves or others. However, I do. I wish harm upon those who I choose to blame for my joylessness, such as the man I feel was the start of my life of unhappiness. He did everything in his power to make my life, as well as others, exceptionally miserable. He has nothing to offer the world but malice and sin. The ethics of his nature are purely immoral. The only person I hate more than myself, is this man in question. May he burn in Hell.