Sometimes when you have too much time on your hands, spending your day(s) at home, your head gets into pondering too much deep shit for your own good.

I vaguely remember asking myself, “What if we were all headed into the same direction at life, ultimately.” Like at a convergent point, that’s where we’d all meet.

It wasn’t so much a question relating to death as it was to the brink of our cognitive sanity. People discuss all sorts of things over the blogosphere. Stupid things. Funny stupid things. Stupid things that sometimes need a kick in the ass to be funny. All in all, a lot of people out there struggle with something I have always taken an interest in since middle school. Depression.

Sure, there are tons of definitions out there. You can string together a cohesive line of literary term to box together this state of mind. To me though, it appears depression happens in such a way where you’re slowly slipping, and it all happens in your head. You may appear perfectly normal, but it’s happening. It starts with the supposed ‘normal’ syndromes. You always feel lethargic You’re more isolated. You become mechanical in your day to day life. Wherever you’re slipping to is something I would challenge those wild scientists out there to define for me. Though there have been impressive statements out there allowing us a peek into the mind of madness, I think without having been medically diagnosed, I am playing with something very close, or at least similar.

Right now, it feels like a dark waterfall. Maybe it’s in a cave somewhere, with no lights. And the place smells strong of something earthy, a sort of rock or another. Nothing expensive, but it fills up your senses like too much chlorine does at the public pool. It sounds like a waterfall. The sounds are somewhat comforting to know that it could be a beautiful sight, only you can’t peer further than the edge of the drop. It’s dark at the deep end. I imagine it would be cold, very very cold.

It reminds me of when I used to swim with my cousins at our aunt’s pool. We were so terrified of the 8ft ‘deep end’, where the water became a deep dark blue. You couldn’t see your toes there, and that scared us.

Anyway, this whole waterfall idea I thought of while doing my dishes. Moments of clarity happen in strange ways. They come in the same train that a smart sentence might come to. Somewhere in my head floated the thought, “Well, perhaps we have to intentionally drift off. You have to fall off the side and become the worse version of yourself. Now whether you get any better from there, or whether that’s a sort of salvation… I can’t answer that. Of course, it was a conversation in my head. It’s not that weird until you put it into words aloud.

Now I’m sitting in my bed. Re-reading what I just wrote, I think along the lines of over medication in our world. So many little things that could be easily explained, but somehow so much more soothed with just the name of something that sounds vaguely terrible without the consequences. I sure hope I’m not one of them, thinking to myself at times whether or not I may actually turn out to be bi-polar. Just food for thought when I recall how fragile my emotions can be. How one can burst into tears that you never even knew were dwelling. Or how amazingly one can put up a front for show when the pressure of obligation hits you just the right way, without cracking the code to your mental skull. Maybe I’m just perfectly ‘normal’ in this world.

I wonder how many people out there search up all they can without professional help on this subject and go over a mental check list. The con’s probably never being severe enough for them to go enlist for help. Not enough conviction, I think. For those that went as a pre-emptive strike, I wonder if those same professionals were made so immune to the way the faint of heart visit for for such trivia, that they are conditioned to unknowingly scoff at the sight of someone so apparently normal turning in questions of their sanity.

How would that feel?

Maybe that fear is the most imminent obstacle beyond all other doubts. The deep end can go where it belongs in the face of such terror, such humiliation; Right up your deep end.

After all these years of researching, reading and watching documentaries and productions made under the central idea of our psychological state. Even tampering with it in my own mind. Maybe it’s the author’s imagination. A creative soul can be called either blessed or just wickedly cursed. God, if I was ever that creative.

I remain neither. In cryo. Suspended. It’s like a bad dream; I’m told there are only two ways for you to wake up in real life – I forgot the first, but the second is to feel the sensation of falling. I am floating above the deep end in an impossible situation. I cannot tell whether that body, the very one that looks like me, is under my control. From this mental perspective, I can pan in onto the face, where my eyelids may or may not be rocking back and forth, I cannot decide, because if they were, that means I’m dreaming. Am I? I do not know whether or not I will turn over, and if it does, I somehow know for sure that the current impossible suspension will be dropped. I will fall.

Then what?