The Luxury of Moribundity
For a few months now, I have been carrying this brooding melancholy deep within me. In truth, it has lived inside me for years, so long that I have forgotten where it came from. Suffice it to say, I have no way to be rid of it. Usually it surfaces, lingers for a couple of days, then sinks back beneath the surface, and I am back on track.
This time, however, I am realising that it isn’t receding; it has lodged itself in me. I keep trying to shrug it off, but so far I have failed. For a few hours I feel I have shaken it loose, and then it returns. Not like before. I am gripped by a profound lack of motivation about everything. I don’t want to get up. I don’t have the energy to talk to people, the strength to go to the office, or even the will to write an essay. I wish I could sleep and never wake up, but that would leave my family with too many complications, so I cannot entertain it.
Of course I know what it means. The signs are worrying, so I have been praying to God not to let me succumb to that darkest phase. I am unsettlingly comfortable with the idea of killing myself. Strangely, it works like a balm, but obviously that is out of the question. And so I pulled out the one card that has hauled me out of every such melancholy.
Who will fucking take care of me if I fall?! I have responsibilities. I cannot afford to collapse and wallow in my misery; that would be profoundly selfish. Besides, there would be a deluge of questions: “What happened?” “Oh, you’re feeling bad? Try feeling good.” “Go away for a few days, you’ll feel better.” The barrage would never stop if I ever collapsed. So I cannot afford to.
When you have responsibilities, people to look after, bills to pay and debts to clear, you cannot simply lie down and declare that you don’t feel like living. No, you don’t get that luxury. Maybe later, when the bills are settled, the debts repaid and the people around me are fine. Maybe then I will lie down and explore this numbness.
Strangely, that has always worked for me, and I am hoping it will work this time too. I have been praying to God not to let me fall, because there is no one to catch me. If I fall, my head will hit the ground; there is nothing in between. I don’t know when, and I don’t know how, but I will have to drag myself out of this rut. I do not have the luxury of moribundity.
I wish God exists. I am not asking for much; I never have. All I am asking for is an ounce of strength.
It reminds me of a few lines from a song:
My head was warm, my skin was soaked I called your name 'til the fever broke
When I awoke, the moon still hung; the night, so black that the darkness hummed
I raised myself, my legs were weak; I prayed my mind be good to me