I am supposed to write 750 words everyday. Over the last one year, I tried to explore what I must do to keep myself afloat and it seems, the secret to happiness is an endless cycle of very pointless activities one must repeat, day after day. Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel your feet touching the ground. Spend time outdoors, only to come back inside again. Travel, only to come back home. Express gratitude to a cold, listless universe.
I wouldn’t dive into the details of what’s “wrong” with me but I have a certificate and a formal diagnosis ready to explain why I sometimes disappear, switch off or disengage entirely. I am going to refer to this as the perpetual, Infinite Sadness that hangs over my head, and of all the subjects I speak, write and joke about, this Infinite Sadness is the one that makes me most uncomfortable. I deferred this “mindfulness” writing exercise because, as with most pointless activities to unlock happiness, my mind shuts down, and I decided I’d watch Melancholia until inspiration strikes. I am only 63 minutes into the film and I’ve paused it just so I can pen down my first 750-word piece and kickstart this exercise with why I need to carry it out in the first place. If you want to know more about Lars Von Trier’s cinema, there are plenty of places to read about it. This, over here, is not it.
What hits homes about the Infinite Sadness portrayed in Melancholia is the sheer selfishness of it all. There are too many dishonest depictions of very hot, very tragic people, being gaunt, selfless and heroic in their melancholy. That these people are poorly socialised, is a grand lie lesser movies usually sell to you. My friends and I, from the Great Infinite Sad, comics and non-comics, are all very gracious, gregarious people on the surface and you’ll want us at your parties. Kirsten Dunst’s Justine in Melancholia nails that part. But she takes breaks. Plenty of them. Those moments she steals away from what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life feel very personal. They reminded me of all the times I’ve walked out immediately after seemingly successful shows and parties. I don’t draw energy from large groups and that’s inconvenient if both your professions depend on commanding the attention of people – during a show or a pitch. And that need to be alone immediately after feels like you are being thankless. God knows there are countless people not as lucky as me to have jobs they actually like doing. And I have two. One that pays occasionally, but it matters to me because I love it. And yet, at its most high points, I am far from ecstatic. The high of a good night is short-lived because the Sad rushes to the surface and then there is the vicious circle of berating oneself for not feeling as happy as one is expected to be.
The brief scenes between Justine and her brand-new husband Michael brought back memories that I have been ashamed to admit – and such thoughts are few and far between for people like me who’re usually mining trauma for “content”. It’s just a lot easier to maintain the funny narrative of being the toxic ex in a relationship. Comedy doesn’t allow me the luxury of detailing as to why I am the toxic ex. I lie awake at night – after the meditation, the gratitude affirmations, the hot baths, the sound baths, the Tibetan singing bowls. I’ll drop off the face of the Earth and zone out for ages and you won’t know what you did wrong. The whole time, there is guilt that washes over me, about not being “grown-up” enough to carry out the duties of a significant other. There are good days too, sure, and that’s exciting to look forward to, but it’s exhausting. And you’re never sure of why I won’t feel joy and you get tired of blaming yourself for it, while I feel like I am being criminally ungrateful.
It’s been 9 years. It’s ironically a twisted form of indulgence where indulging parties don’t really enjoy themselves. They mope about in bed. They cancel plans. They cut off good friends. I’ve got a set of rules that I try my best to adhere to – I don’t cancel shows, I honour commitments and I’m honest with friends and colleagues. It helps. Just like this seemingly pointless exercise of hitting the magical 750-word count.
I spin yarns 
Brutally honest, and the fortunate or the unfortunate thing is that I could relate, like many others will be able to. Though the subject at hand is grim, your articulation of it is lit!