Unexplained Hell

LeAnn Giaquinto


Sometimes I look out my bedroom window at the world which must be faced everyday, and see a gloomy overcast sky playing hide and seek with the sun, and a smile forms on my face. Finally, in the face of such darkness which seems to most like hopelessness, I see a reflection of the way I feel inside. Certain words in the English language to describe such a feeling such as “depressed,” “sad,” or “self-deprecated” does not seem to actively describe this feeling. But when I look outside I smile, a lost smile suddenly found in a sullen atmosphere, because I finally have a tangible representation of the grey galaxy that has not only settled, but made a home, inside of me. If only right now someone could ask me ‘How are you feeling” I could point my finger out that window and maybe they could actually grasp the feeling. I know it would be a more productive answer then my usual, “I don’t know.”


I can measure how bad I have gotten in a few ways. The way my mother looks and talks to me seem to be the most important. I guess that it is not possible to change your personality in such a negative way without affecting your loved ones. The ironic thing is that by her feeling some of my pain, I feel a hundred times worse. It is one thing to fuck up your own life, but quite another to cause pain to the person you care about most in the world. I wish I could hide it to protect her, but it is so hard. I cannot explain it to her though I don’t know if that would even help. When crying and drinking become your only forms feeling and numbness at the same time, a problem is the scorching catalyst. If only I could pinpoint what that problem is and why it started.


Whenever depression is represented in the news or movies it is usually because of some obvious problem in the person’s life. Mothers throw their children in the rivers because of post-partum depression. Little Susie decides to hang herself one day because her father has been molesting her since she was four years old. Dad has taken to drinking because he lost his job and mom divorced him. The list goes on and on. More often than not, these are legitimate reasons for feeling sorry for yourself. When your therapist asks you, “What seems to be the problem?” you have a definitive answer. In such a fucked up state of mind, your sadness is justified.


But what if you’re sad all the time for no particular reason? That is my problem. I cannot shake this terrible anxiety inside that makes me want to be someone else. But why? I have a great family and job. My mom is my best friend and it is incredibly hard to hide such pain from someone who knows every part of your psyche. But that is not really true. She doesn’t know my darkness and loneliness. She doesn’t know of my insomnia whose only cure is extensive drinking. She doesn’t know the worthlessness that I feel every second of everyday and the self-consciousness that makes it sometimes unbearable to step out into the open air. She doesn’t know and I don’t want her to.

What about love? Isn’t that the point of living? Yeah if you happen to be a lyric in a Celine Dion song. What a crock. Love is so complicated. Everything has to be perfect: the mood, the timing, the willingness of the participants. Once in awhile you just need some human touch and think that will be enough for now. But sometimes it’s not and you get tangled up in that butterflies in the stomach feeling that you detest with all your being. It’s really a crapshoot and I don’t want to play. Feelings can be the ultimate enemy and sex can purely be used as leverage in that painful outcome. Sometimes I think that unrequited desire is just as painful as unrequited love.


Maybe if I just lay here all the pain will go away and find somebody else to dwell in. I can’t lie still. My insides are shaking. I want to sleep but instead I get stuck in this restless stasis where I guess I’m up but I feel like I’m sleeping. I’m so alone. Do I like it? Sometimes. But that is when the darkness takes over and I analyze everything to death until I am too exhausted to get up and find the remote. It is a dangerous situation to leave people alone with their inner most thoughts.

So here I am looking out my window at the gray sky and spurts of light peeking out of those clouds, and I feel like I belong in this whirlwind of misery. It is my friend and I never have to explain my feelings. Despair already knows what despair feels like. When I am ready I will get out of my bed and throw away the vodka and cigarettes. I will take a shower. I will call my mom with some excitement in my voice. I will get my hair done and put make-up and face the world with this mask that seems socially acceptable. Yes, someday I will be ready to play make believe all over again. With practice, I will become a professional bullshitter and that will be the only way I can function in this society that praises beauty and happiness.

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