You can’t fix me when it’s the world that’s broken

We’re trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
And the machine is bleeding to death
The Dead Flag Blues – Godspeed You! Black Emperor

Physical pain is the bodies plea for help, that something is wrong and needs fixing. So in the same respect depression is a plea from somewhere deeper, somewhere inexplicable and invisible, an existential plea for purpose and meaning, a voice in your head that speaks from the very depths of your being, “I can’t go on like this, something is very, very wrong.”

For me personally I have felt this underlying fundamental wrongness ever since I because a teenager and developed new world views, finally seeing the bigger picture and very strongly empathising with The World and it’s pain. I believe that this empathy is the cause of all of my journeys with depression, existential crises, movements into oblivion and flirtations with death. The world is vile and horrible place, organised and structured by people without care, heart and soul which hurts, hurts to feel it’s suffering and hurts to see how people are blind to and ignore it.

No amount of therapy can fix a depression of this nature. The only way I, and many others like me, will be cured of this everlasting empathic ailment is if we begin the very lengthy process of fixing and healing our broken home. It is the duty of the creatives, dreamers and thinkers to pull ourselves out of the darkness and find that inner spark to help the world before it is smothered by the murky dark waters of the dictators, politicians and bureaucrats.

“I agree with most of your opinions and it would be a great injustice for you to change your beliefs and the way you think just so you can get by in the world.”
– My therapist

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