Reflection Of Melancholic Depersonalization

The Influence Of State Anxiety On The Relationship Between Depressive Symptomology And Poor Sleep Quality

Sara, 18-years-old youth, always wish to be alone. She would lock herself in her room, looked at herself in the mirror and spit venom at her reflection. Then she would curled up on her bed, with her blanket covering all of her - her body, soul and mind - as a defence mechanism to block herself away from the darkness that are slowly consuming her. A few months after she thought that it went away, it came back. She fought hard to conceal its presence.

Morning arrived yet this time with a cheerful face of my mother and my healing brother’s smile. For the first time, this felt like home exactly, the way we lived 2 years back with warmth and happiness echoing in our house. I almost forgot the comfort of sitting on a couch or laying on a bed beside my mother. The aroma of her devouring food filled the house and the riddles of my ever loved brother never stopped, now, I had no need to keep track of

At first I started back, unable to believe that it was indeed I who was reflected in the mirror; and when I became fully convinced that I was in reality the monster that I am, I was filled with the bitterest sensations of despondence and mortification”

Today was funeral day. My mom’s funeral. It was a dark October thursday, the clouds were brewing a storm. A slight breeze disturbed my neck. My uncomfortable suit sleeves bellowed in the cold breeze.. I hadn’t felt any emotions since the day of her death, which was weeks ago, almost as if my emotion is grey. It was warm then, as my mind was too. Nowadays, up until today, my mind has been a dark fog, as if my mind was released into the sky, darkening everyone’s day, arriving at my mom’s funeral or just to cuddle up with their friends and family in front of a warm crackling fire, telling the stories of their childhood and how times were better. Not me, my dad usually ignored me and he only worked on managing my mom’s fortune. Yeah. My mom’s

The heavy clear doors slammed open one by one; big bright lights pierced my eyes above with little images of ceiling tile surrounding me that I could barely make out. People in navy blue uniforms huddled around me appearing to be in a hurry somewhere based on they’re bright red faces and the drops of sweat that were slowly dripping and collecting down they’re flushed faces, that eventually fell and exploded on my cold skin. All the commotion around me came to an abrupt halt. Now I was starring at the ceiling once again that now portrayed a blurring metal reflection of my broken and beaten down body that was bound to keep destructing and destroying. I could vaguely hear footsteps that seemed to be in the distance, but became louder and clearer with each step closer towards me. A sudden mask like object appeared directly over my face slowly easing its way down to grasp onto my pale face. Darkness now was the only thing left in sight and would stay this way for hours.

Time hums, beckoning me to fall into its abyss of black backdrops and starlit skies, crawling into the amorphous, murkiness of past-midnight hours, settling into suspension, merging with absolute stillness. Solely after all streams of light have faded to thick darkness, solely after crackles and murmurs of noise have dissipated into silence deep as death, all breaths of life have faded into dreams, the sky has burned away like heated gems, do I fall into a trance of temporary comfort, free thoughts of distant worlds. Deep into the blanketing hours compressing into my skin after the crimson close of day when I can forget my surroundings, persuade myself of an alternate universe of limitless freedom.

I feel happy and relaxed as my legs brush up against the scratchy slate gray carpet. I look up and see colorful chewed pieces of gum stuck underneath the brown wooden table. The smell of popcorn and cookies mix with the stench of sweaty children. Screaming children can be heard in the distance but the hum of the air conditioning is the most prominent sound filling my ears. Touching the soft reality escaping portal my hands lie still. My eyes wander and there are kids reading, talking, and even sleeping. I feel safe within these four boring gray walls filled with colorful Picasso like papers dominating the eyes of the viewers. I pick up an object next to me that is cold against my warm palm. I bring it to my lips and the sweet bubbly caffeine trickles down my throat. Peace and comfort are felt in this small corner under this desk.

Moving across the room I pressed my face against the bedroom window; the glass was cool to the touch. With eyes closed, I pictured myself going through that window, and tumbled down to the parking lot below. Then something pulled me back into the room; the music that flowed through the walls drew me back. The first few notes of ‘Stairway to Heaven’ found their way into my ears, and in that instant, it all made sense. Everything. I knew the meaning of life at that exact moment.

He slammed the door shut and locked it. The locking mechanism made a decided click that was a comfort to his harried senses. The acrid scent of sweat reached his nose, and he became more aware of the mess he’d created on himself. He peeled his t-shirt off, immediately more comfortable than before. His breathing slowed and evened out as he allowed himself to relax. He slid his back against the wall and sat heavily. Once again, as time slugged by, he felt his anxiety rising. It was dark and all he could hear was his calm breathing. He was safe, he was fine. Nothing could get him

It was almost like plunging into a pool of cold water. My ears popped, and I was near to wincing as the pressure squeezed in tighter, creating that unpleasant sensation when you dive to the bottom of a deep pool. And even though my mouth wasn’t open when I jumped into the mirror, there was this metallic taste lingering on my tastebuds. When I neared toward the other side, my eyes inadvertently snapped open, and I was able to see the hazy outline of my reflection backed up to the wall, clinging to it for safety, as if I were some rabid wolf.

Melancholia is defined as a mental condition characterized by extreme depression, bodily complaints, and often hallucinations and delusions. Lars von Trier wrote the film during his own episode of severe depression, and noted the tendency of the depressed to remain peaceful during catastrophic events. To reflect this detached sense of reality, Lars Von Trier rejected his rigidly realistic Dogma 95 principles for a dreamlike aesthetic that represents the depressed mind of the main character Justine (played by Kirsten Dunst). He splits the film into two parts with each part named after one of the main characters. Part one is named after Justine and takes place during the night of her wedding reception. Justine

In Mourning and Melancholia, Sigmund Freud explicates how mourning and melancholia are intertwined with profoundly similar features such as the loss of a loved object and dwelling on loss. Freud outlines mourning as “the reaction to the loss of a loved person, or to the loss of some abstraction”. Further, mourning gives an individual a system by which they can experience their sorrow, and perhaps most importantly provides an end for them to reach a point they are able to move on. Conversely, melancholy is mourning without end. Freud writes, “The complex of melancholia behaves like an open wound…”, making it a continuing cycle of mourning. In this essay we will examine how historical and ongoing trauma results in suffering, objectification, dissociation, illness, psychosis, and even addiction, primarily in two texts – Angela Garcia’s The Pastoral Clinic and Frantz Fanon’s Black Skin White Masks.

I head past my brothers and I room and feel a crisp chill from our hard working fan. I then head toward the white cabin door. I quickly fling my body out of the cabin in hopes that the bugs trying to get inside the warm cabin do not sneak in. I immediately head toward the calmly brown rocking dock lying across the water. The dock extends so far that the end of the dock cannot be seen because of the darkness, appearing to resemble a walkway to a new dimension. I make my way to the beginning of the dock and begin my journey to the new world. Walking through the darkness to the other side I can feel the temperature changing and a smooth breeze beginning to whistle. I finally make my way to the seemingly new universe. I turn back to look for the quaint brown cabin, the shiny silver boats, and the trees that claustrophobically surround the whole setting. However, the darkness engulfs all of these beautiful things and none of them exist in this new world that I have discovered. Finally, I lay down and open my eyes to find the only light this foreign location has to offer. After seeing the vast expanse of glowing amebas in the sky I think to myself, this is

I know that I must sleep, everyone sleeps, right? And yet the soundless breeze summons my senses and I wake, or feel like I wake, again and again. When morning comes, my backache radiates towards me and I feel sick and heavy. The day is beckoning towards me and I hug my blanket closer, feeling the usual hopelessness, sadness, confusion. Great. It’s been like this for awhile, and I’ve been trying to ignore it for awhile too. Depression, like the most evil shadow, seems to pour in like sunlight from every damn crack. It’s simmering under the surface of everything I do, even when I denounce it.