Prizes and promises
August 5, 2014 § Leave a comment
“On desperate friends, trying to reconcile their names. There is a name for men like you inside the dark, and I know your faults,I know the way you write them off, I don’t want anything to do with it no more.” – Girl Habor – Manchester Orchestra
I closed my eyes and tried desperately to get some perspective together. To come to realise that I’d spent the previous months borrowing happiness from the future and now this was what was left. Me, adrift again. Lost again, just like that. Holding on by my fingers nails in the wild eyed hope that I will have something compelling to say just before I let go. I really hope I do. You can’t really plan moments like that though can you? It has to be off the cuff.
But sometimes in life the gears change quick. Sometimes hopes comes on quick and expected from all the way down there to looking up at least. Like almost all of my mood swings these days I couldn’t quite put my finger on the pulse of it. But I knew it was there, and, while it’s still there, that’s all that matters. That it’s there. Should it go away again I’ll only be lost again.
I saw a report on the news where they put two brains through an MRI machine. One was an excitable happy person. I can’t help but think less of those people yet if I had the choice to swap I honestly don’t know if I’d take it. Anyway, the other was a manic depressive person. They were monitoring brain activity to certain images through this machine that supplied heat colour maps of how the brains were running. The happy person first. It fizzed like a rainbow. It was like a internal gay pride fireworks display. I was envious. The girl watched in awe as the bright colours, green and yellow and red shot around in her brain. Then came the turn of the second person. The depressive. Before he got into the MRI machine they showed a shot of him and the reporter introduced him in that kid glove, head tilt manor that sad people find themselves being addressed in. You wouldn’t really know it looking at him. He looked okay, just a little anxious maybe. He wasn’t crying or curled up in a ball, he wasn’t cutting himself or writing poetry. But it was there. It was in his eyes. Those tell tale signs. You see them in shoulders and in the eyes. Hunched over, blocking the world behind. The eyes stay low, not venturing past the halfway mark, darting around no eye contact.
When it came to watching his scan it was more dim moon light on a lake than the last. The dull blue light barely flickered. It lazily rolled around the screen for the 15 odd seconds they showed. That’s the difference. That’s what people don’t talk about. When you’re depressed you feel less. You are less, you do less, you eat less. You just fucking sit there and hold on and pray to any god that will listen that you can just close your eyes and pull some perspective together.