Keep the Lights On
Prologue
Depression is undoubtedly one of the nastiest illnesses in the world.
It can assault you without any admonition. It tells you that you’re not even worth shit, and that you should just execute yourself. It manipulates you into telling people that you’re alright, when you just want to twist into a ball and depart this life. It can obliterate your existence within the duration of only a few months, sometimes not even that. Every day is identical to the last, you awaken, and go through your day as normally as you can, then you go home and sleep, praying that you don’t wake up in the morning.
Then you wake up and you want to die.
People constantly notify me that I’m going to be okay, that I’m going through a cruel point in time and that it happens to everybody. Unless you have individually suffered from depression, don’t ever tell me that it’s just a phase. No, this is my life. I have been lied to, cheated on, used, thrown to the curb like a piece of garbage, replaced, and treated poorer than the scum of the earth. I have witnessed people I feel affection for waste away in front of my eyes. This is everything but a chapter in my life.
I always found it comical the system of which society works. We always desire for people to worry about us, and when they finally do we just shove them away. Everyone puts up these walls of fortification, in hopes that it will secure them from each and every one of the dangers in the world, but in actuality it results in even more pain. We end up hurting people that really do worry about us; we believe that they’re just as evil as each person who has damaged us.
They just want to help us.
There is so much commotion in this world. People are dying every day because of warfare, natural disasters, and poverty. So why is this country constantly so gluttonous? Everything is about wealth and weaponry, but when the subject matter of famine and ailing children pops up, we just shun it? Then you have adolescents who get bullied every day at school, just because they repudiate to conform to society’s representation of beauty. They commit suicide, and that’s when the public starts to be concerned, but only for a few days until it all blows over. Yeah, they only care about you when you die.
When did our priorities get so fucked up?
Maybe that is an additional motive as to why my depression is so ruthless. I’m not ignorant, I know how fucked up humankind is, and how the corruption of our society continues to deteriorate with each and every passing day. We have all of these politicians who lie, just to win over everyone’s hearts, we have criminals who rape and beat the infantile and the elderly, and for what reason? Just because they feel like it.
In spite of all of the malevolence in the world, I still believe that there is some good left.
There just has to be.
There’s an earsplitting screech in front of me. I close my college textbook and chuck it into my backpack. I sling it over my shoulder and seize my crutches that I had acquired from a shattered leg. I already had two surgeries on it, as of right now there are 2 metal plates and 13 screws in my ankle and my leg. I hobble to the BMW that he knows I loathe. There’s nothing I can really do regarding it considering the doctor won’t let me drive my own car.
“How did therapy go?” Craig inquires when we get on the highway. Craig is my cousin who had taken me underneath his wing when I moved to Pittsburgh two years ago. My parents had disowned me after an accident and refused to even glance at me. Craig and I had a love/hate affiliation, he had his moments where I just sought to chop his head off and drive his hideous BMW into the foundation of a river, but he was the only individual who had ever cared about me, and that meant more to me than he would ever comprehend.
“Fine”
I groan when he starts singing along with the radio. It was his malicious way of torturing someone.
“Dr. Obert gave me different medication. Since the other one was making my depression worse.” My admission gets him to stop singing, and I’m appreciative for that.
“Hopefully this one works better.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
The car ride is habitually silent, besides his humming and the tune that is being emitted from the stereo.
“Have you been reading any good books?’ He asks and turns the radio down. We both loved to read books, and we would frequently get into debates about our views on political affairs and philosophy. Even if I agreed with his opinion, I would constantly dispute with him just because it was amusing to see him get crazy.
“I’ve been reading a lot of Thoreau lately.” I retort.
“Yeah? Is his work any good?” He inquires.
“Very. If you want you can borrow my copy for when you get bored on the road.”
He grins, keeping his eyes on the road, “Sounds good to me kiddo.”
I beam, discovering the tiniest fragment of consolation while in the companionship of my cousin. **** “Ariana, can you put these plates on the table for me? We have company tonight” Anne asks courteously and hands me a pile of tableware. Anne is Craig’s lovely wife; they have two adorable children, Rhys and Francesca. Rhys is almost 4 years old, while Francesca isn’t even 2 yet.
“Who’s our company?” I inquire as I set down all of the plates, forks, and knives in their suitable spots on the table. I take a seat back down because putting too much mass on my ankle really hurts. I peek out the window noticing snow descend from the dim clouds. I admired Pittsburgh this time of the year, it was close to the end of February and it was still snowing.
“Matt Niskanen and James Neal” Craig says as he peels potatoes. My eyebrows knit together in uncertainty.
“Who?”
“You know, those two guys we got in trade for Goligoski.” Craig retorts, throwing the peeler into the sink and giving me one of his looks. We wait for our visitors patiently as Anne continues to cook in the kitchen. Craig is reading the duplicate of Civil Disobedience by Henry Thoreau that I had lent him.
A thunderous thump is heard throughout the house, and Rhys’ little footsteps can be heard running down the hallway and to the door. The house is abruptly noisy as Craig, Rhys, and Francesca welcome the new teammates. I limp to the kitchen so I can assist Anne in putting all of the pasta and chicken onto the plates.
“James, Matt, this is my wife Anne,” he grins and gestures to Anne who smiles and shakes both of their hands, “and this is my cousin Ariana.” Craig tugs me into a side hug and ruffles my hair. I stagger onward and shake both of their gigantic hands that swallow up mine. I notice the one with the sky blue eyes, James, is scrutinizing my appearance. I’m wearing a simple white t-shirt and a pair of Nike basketball shorts that are way too large for me. My dark coffee coloured tresses cascades down in ordinary waves to the center of my back. His eyes continue to stare me down, and I notice the look on his face, it had been a facial expression I had seen countless times throughout my life.
He was judging me.
“Nice to meet you.” His voice is void of all sentiment, and the urge to roll my eyes at him is at an all time high. Craig gives me a different look, wordlessly telling me to be civil.
“Likewise.”
It can assault you without any admonition. It tells you that you’re not even worth shit, and that you should just execute yourself. It manipulates you into telling people that you’re alright, when you just want to twist into a ball and depart this life. It can obliterate your existence within the duration of only a few months, sometimes not even that. Every day is identical to the last, you awaken, and go through your day as normally as you can, then you go home and sleep, praying that you don’t wake up in the morning.
Then you wake up and you want to die.
People constantly notify me that I’m going to be okay, that I’m going through a cruel point in time and that it happens to everybody. Unless you have individually suffered from depression, don’t ever tell me that it’s just a phase. No, this is my life. I have been lied to, cheated on, used, thrown to the curb like a piece of garbage, replaced, and treated poorer than the scum of the earth. I have witnessed people I feel affection for waste away in front of my eyes. This is everything but a chapter in my life.
I always found it comical the system of which society works. We always desire for people to worry about us, and when they finally do we just shove them away. Everyone puts up these walls of fortification, in hopes that it will secure them from each and every one of the dangers in the world, but in actuality it results in even more pain. We end up hurting people that really do worry about us; we believe that they’re just as evil as each person who has damaged us.
They just want to help us.
There is so much commotion in this world. People are dying every day because of warfare, natural disasters, and poverty. So why is this country constantly so gluttonous? Everything is about wealth and weaponry, but when the subject matter of famine and ailing children pops up, we just shun it? Then you have adolescents who get bullied every day at school, just because they repudiate to conform to society’s representation of beauty. They commit suicide, and that’s when the public starts to be concerned, but only for a few days until it all blows over. Yeah, they only care about you when you die.
When did our priorities get so fucked up?
Maybe that is an additional motive as to why my depression is so ruthless. I’m not ignorant, I know how fucked up humankind is, and how the corruption of our society continues to deteriorate with each and every passing day. We have all of these politicians who lie, just to win over everyone’s hearts, we have criminals who rape and beat the infantile and the elderly, and for what reason? Just because they feel like it.
In spite of all of the malevolence in the world, I still believe that there is some good left.
There just has to be.
There’s an earsplitting screech in front of me. I close my college textbook and chuck it into my backpack. I sling it over my shoulder and seize my crutches that I had acquired from a shattered leg. I already had two surgeries on it, as of right now there are 2 metal plates and 13 screws in my ankle and my leg. I hobble to the BMW that he knows I loathe. There’s nothing I can really do regarding it considering the doctor won’t let me drive my own car.
“How did therapy go?” Craig inquires when we get on the highway. Craig is my cousin who had taken me underneath his wing when I moved to Pittsburgh two years ago. My parents had disowned me after an accident and refused to even glance at me. Craig and I had a love/hate affiliation, he had his moments where I just sought to chop his head off and drive his hideous BMW into the foundation of a river, but he was the only individual who had ever cared about me, and that meant more to me than he would ever comprehend.
“Fine”
I groan when he starts singing along with the radio. It was his malicious way of torturing someone.
“Dr. Obert gave me different medication. Since the other one was making my depression worse.” My admission gets him to stop singing, and I’m appreciative for that.
“Hopefully this one works better.”
“Yeah, I hope so.”
The car ride is habitually silent, besides his humming and the tune that is being emitted from the stereo.
“Have you been reading any good books?’ He asks and turns the radio down. We both loved to read books, and we would frequently get into debates about our views on political affairs and philosophy. Even if I agreed with his opinion, I would constantly dispute with him just because it was amusing to see him get crazy.
“I’ve been reading a lot of Thoreau lately.” I retort.
“Yeah? Is his work any good?” He inquires.
“Very. If you want you can borrow my copy for when you get bored on the road.”
He grins, keeping his eyes on the road, “Sounds good to me kiddo.”
I beam, discovering the tiniest fragment of consolation while in the companionship of my cousin. **** “Ariana, can you put these plates on the table for me? We have company tonight” Anne asks courteously and hands me a pile of tableware. Anne is Craig’s lovely wife; they have two adorable children, Rhys and Francesca. Rhys is almost 4 years old, while Francesca isn’t even 2 yet.
“Who’s our company?” I inquire as I set down all of the plates, forks, and knives in their suitable spots on the table. I take a seat back down because putting too much mass on my ankle really hurts. I peek out the window noticing snow descend from the dim clouds. I admired Pittsburgh this time of the year, it was close to the end of February and it was still snowing.
“Matt Niskanen and James Neal” Craig says as he peels potatoes. My eyebrows knit together in uncertainty.
“Who?”
“You know, those two guys we got in trade for Goligoski.” Craig retorts, throwing the peeler into the sink and giving me one of his looks. We wait for our visitors patiently as Anne continues to cook in the kitchen. Craig is reading the duplicate of Civil Disobedience by Henry Thoreau that I had lent him.
A thunderous thump is heard throughout the house, and Rhys’ little footsteps can be heard running down the hallway and to the door. The house is abruptly noisy as Craig, Rhys, and Francesca welcome the new teammates. I limp to the kitchen so I can assist Anne in putting all of the pasta and chicken onto the plates.
“James, Matt, this is my wife Anne,” he grins and gestures to Anne who smiles and shakes both of their hands, “and this is my cousin Ariana.” Craig tugs me into a side hug and ruffles my hair. I stagger onward and shake both of their gigantic hands that swallow up mine. I notice the one with the sky blue eyes, James, is scrutinizing my appearance. I’m wearing a simple white t-shirt and a pair of Nike basketball shorts that are way too large for me. My dark coffee coloured tresses cascades down in ordinary waves to the center of my back. His eyes continue to stare me down, and I notice the look on his face, it had been a facial expression I had seen countless times throughout my life.
He was judging me.
“Nice to meet you.” His voice is void of all sentiment, and the urge to roll my eyes at him is at an all time high. Craig gives me a different look, wordlessly telling me to be civil.
“Likewise.”
Notes
I finally decided to post this story on here, hope you guys enjoy it :]I'll be updating regularly, and I'll slowly be posting up my other stories as well.
This story really hits home for me. As someone who has suffered from depression/postpartum depression, I totally relate to Ariana. I really want to see where this goes. Please update.
4/23/14