The best medicine for my melancholy it seems is not the hearty advice of some genuinely concerned friends, nor is it a clamorous bout of laughter erupting from a tickled string, but simply to hear of another’s melancholy.
Just a while ago, I was feeling barren, soulless. I confided in a friend the unnatural stirrings in my heart, and coincidentally, he told me he has been feeling quite the same way recently. Of course, I went on first to ramble, babble about my woes, about the strangulating emptiness from which there seemed no escape; like being trapped at the pitch-black bottom of an ocean, drowning yet not dying. Later on, I inquired of his state of mind. He began sharing with me he too could not define the source of his sorrow. Perhaps it came from a girl, or perhaps his life in general. Then very suddenly, I emerged from the malicious murk. Here was another person who suffers an inexplicable melancholy as well. I am not alone in my struggles. And I hope you do not see this as schaudenfreude – it definitely isn’t. It is warmth of company that settles me; the assurance that I am sane.