Philosophy – “Why Depression is all the same” – 1/1/2021

“Can depression be removed from the life of one who suffers from it? It cannot. It is not anything related to presence. Depression is what a person suffers from, due to absence, just as a wound upon skin is missing flesh and blood.”

– Modern Romanticism

The average psychiatrist or psychologist, or those who simply study the mind, cannot seem to comprehend the very definition of depression. Contrasted from the wound to the flesh or form, being something of a physical injury, damage done to the mind is metaphysical. Meaning, it is damage that extends beyond the understanding of a psychiatrist or whoever else is just attempting to do their job. It is what the depressed person suffers from, that no person whose study is the mind, made as a profession, can offer of replacement for true mending.

Is depression something there to be removed? Can a person who suffers from depression simply be stripped from it, altogether? Depression cannot be removed, anymore than with a wound on flesh, one would make it bigger.

There are those who have cited “situational depression” and contrasted it from “clinical depression”. However, it is all the same, due to that what is missing from one’s life, being what caused the depression, might not have ever been there to begin with. As in, of “situational depression”, there had been an occurrence, of perhaps a death in a person’s own family, that caused the depression to begin. Though, of “clinical depression” where there is no obvious situation involved, such is also the same as the former example, by how “absence” is also the factor involved to what the depressed person suffers. Whether a person suffers from their depression because of a loss, or of something that was never experienced, it relates to the yearning to which makes a person suffer from that absence.

What prescription, offered by a psychiatrist or whoever else, can offer something that was once genuine or wanted to be genuine, to someone’s life? According to this, anti-depressants would be no more than placeholders, deprived of the genuineness that would fulfill an individual out, from what they lack.

It is always that a person suffers due to what has either been lost or had never been, rather than what is still present in their lives. Gratitude is the feeling we possess for what is still present in our lives, being the factor that fills the void of depression, of that darkness to which we found no light. In the realization for what is still present in our lives, rather than for what is absent, we do extend that gratitude upon it. Though, the factor of being “genuine” among all that presence, cannot relate to the materialistic, being more proof for why depression is metaphysical of an issue.

Quote – “The Third Reason to Cry: Out of Love” – 8/18/2020

“It is out of love that we weep not solely for misery, not solely for joy. These are tears that do not stain us, nor are they ones that we can easily forget. They are tears to merely remind us. Of what? Of what we are, truly at the center of ourselves. Loving ones. We build a shelter full of memories, constructing a heart out of gold. We say we are weak, that we are strong, in that residence of a heart. For as we stand like bronze, our tears come as silver, while our hearts are resplendent in gold that never wilts so long as we are structured, so long as we can break.”

– Modern Romanticism

Poem – “Once I saw you Undressed Near a Lake” – Romance – 4/11/2020

No longer shed the tears,
No longer shed the struggle.
You collapse on knees as old as the stones behind you,
That you drag.
Though, your nakedness
Has been something to kiss
For beauty’s sake.

Life has stepping stones,
Not weights for shoulders.

Love searches for paths in bones,
Calling a ring up to ears that sting.

Once I saw you undressed near a lake,
As you crawled beneath the waves,
The boughs above,
As the flood was your tears,
As the most vulnerable doe, to see your utmost fears.

Please weaken yourself no longer,
As you find meaning in pain.

Once I saw you undressed near a lake,
As tomorrow’s burden comes to shelter you
In its wake.

“In Love with the Personal” – Poem – Romantic

Here, I shake to know,
The dreariness in thou.
Why are there those who doubt?
Why are there those who say against?
Are we not to be?
Is there love at all between us?
I question it, for doubt has strung
My torment up, for the world to see
The darkness of us.

My dearest one,
You have a face like milk,
And a nose, molded upon a face
Like the wax from a candle.
And when you weep,
I see the candle flame melting it down.
Your face holds a fire,
That strikes my heart to bleed.
Have I held you up in my strength?

My withered strength,
My withered pride,
There is nothing more than you for me,
Not the kingdoms to which God has promised,
Nor the gold to which a king has ever promised,
There is only the comfort
To which we have promised ourselves,
By the hands that caress the bleeding wounds.
There should be no more mockery.

There should be none of what says rueful words,
When upon our shoulders,
When upon ourselves, entranced.
There should be none of that impending doubt
In formulation to our years in marriage,
In formulation to our years in each’s arms.

Like a scribe with a wishful note,
To translate into tears,
Tears of wax and tears of sweat,
As my toil is now your blood.