Melancholy

There is much I can say about my depression. Most of it I think was caused by issues pertaining to loneliness and past experience. Many of those experiences I think were developed in the last relationship I was in. It ended sadly, and I must conclude that many people who suffer the same dramatic end are duly depressed—sort of like I am now. This depression is so sharp that it messes with my thinking. Even now, I should be finishing my speech.

Many other people have misinterpreted my depression for a dissemination of my melancholy—that the general rule should be: "If I'm depressed, then so should everyone else." This is not the case. For me, I have reason to believe that the society in which I live produces this kind of depression, through its medium of secular philosophy and false sense of hope. The naiveté of this society in turn redounds to an optimistic vein. The problem is still there. How can the next generation survive? Its dissemination will only exacerbate the end result of previous conclusions. There isn't enough room for this in the next generation.

Another note has been solidified by previous engagements of romances. Frankly, there isn't any. In my life there isn't room for it. I wish there was—I really do! Man is a sexual being. I am a sexual being. I wish that I could enjoy the company of another's warmth. Reading with a partner is, I think, a quaint experience for me. I think it's the best. And I don't think this along with the ubiquitous depression I see can be isolated. There have been interests that would help aid my depression, but most of them became too simple and monotonous. There wasn't life in the dating. There was something missing. And what kills me most is the fact that I can see what I want, but the availability is nebulous and impossible—namely because the feelings could be misinterpreted and not mutual. This has happened more than once.

There have been concerns that I dealt with in the past. These are still alive today in my mind. The concerns that I speak of coalesce previously mentioned ones as well; however these are the more recent—love, purity, excitement and the need to enjoy another. These are so proximate to my problem, mainly because the optimism I wish to find can only be seen with the comfort of someone there. I think novels best describe this in the figurative sense. Those writers who can write and illustrate these great truths do more justice to the notions than I could in this one blog.