Decipher

What I see in some parts of songs from a wondrous musical project created by this remarkable man whose name is Adam Randal Young.

Depression, please cut to the chase
And cut a long story short
Oh please be done
How much longer can this drama afford to run?

It doesn’t just cut to the chase, truthfully. You’ll have to find a way to cut it yourself or just merely wait for something else to do the job.

Drama runs as long as you let it. You can control it. You can reach out to it and dispose of it. It’s all garbage and conflicts you don’t need. It all sucks everything into nothing. Waste, waste, waste.

It turns out there’s something less complicated than therapy for depression.

Dive in and swim away
From your loneliness and miserable days

And when you wake up on your own

Look around you ‘cause you’re not alone

Let your hopes go and they’ll survive

‘Cause this is the future and you are alive

You’re headed home

You’re headed home

HOW CAN I POSSIBLY SWIM AWAY?

It just feels like I am alone. Lonely, lonely, alone.

I’m attempting to be glad that I’m alive in the future. Because it’s so difficult. Reality’s embrace is turning into a death grip. I’m searching for space to breathe in everything innocent.

I’m trying to find home, all right. I’m on it.

I’m on it.

Home is a boxcar and it’s so far

Out of reach

Hidden under umbrella beach

Where in the universe is HOME? MY STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKE, I couldn’t seem to find it before.

It takes labyrinths, sacrifices, bawling, and God knows what to arrive to this beautiful abode. It’s where you’re happy. It’s where everything is right to you. It’s where your reverie is. It’s where your dreams come true.

It is hidden somewhere unexpected and odd.

It’s far. I warn you: It will be a beastly journey.

I feel like I’m falling

So darling, don’t let me go

Falling. For me, it’s not the kind of “Ohmygosh, I think I love you” falling. I never have that kind of falling. It’s more of a “Oh crap no, why the heck is the depression back?” falling. Yep. So familiar.

I could (most of the time) honestly feel my grip on happiness failing. My palms start to become sweaty and WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH–

I was about to surely fall into a sea of starving sharks and hospital needles until this darling – this dear – comes in and becomes my hero, gripping onto my wrist and wiping all my cold tears off my cheeks.

If the bombs go off
The sun will still be shining
Because we've heard it said that every mushroom cloud
Has a silver lining

Bombs will go off. Nobody has a life that doesn’t blow up even just a few times.

But, hey, the sun still seems to be hanging up there. Hi, sun.

Optimism just squeezes itself out of the letters of these words. I can hear it. It gives me this kind of blazing hope, and it proves, at the same time, that there is always that place in life where you can see all the good and the warmth and the certainty of something way brighter than some stinking, gloomy hellhole.

                                                                                     

Deep inside of you, there’s a ruby glow
And it gets brighter than you and I will ever know

This musician knows how to assure.

People had called me “smart,” “wise,” and “intelligent.” Please don’t think I’m boasting here. I had just stated the words people in different ages have described me. They gave me definition, labeled me, had given me a name tag, scribbled onto my head what they see in me, pointed in my direction.

I can’t see it. Blind. I can’t see myself. It actually takes a lot to.

But I don’t see why they do call me those adjectives. Maybe they just wanted to make me smile. Maybe they just want me to think positive. Because I am a bit pessimistic.

But sometimes, I do see something when I’m happy and warm and all fuzzy inside. I feel as if there’s this inexplicable glow inside of me, somewhere right there.

And, sometimes, I believe that only I can see how bright it truly is.

Maybe I'll write
To save my life

Writing. Dear goodness, I love the feeling of picking up a functional pen and proceeding to spill out all my thoughts and all my soul on paper, in the form of illegible, loose handwriting. Even through my mother’s ex-laptop, I have the ability and access to type like a maniac, to push on the keys, to exclaim.

Writing has helped me in those moments wherein it’s Doomsday for me. Apocalypse. It is maybe my second favorite thing next to Music. I write poetically; you’ll have to carefully decipher my emotions through my cursive handwriting plus the baffling metaphors to get to what I wanted to deliver.

Words move me, whether they are in a song or not, they do. They know how to push me to my knees and contract my chest.

They know how to heal the open cuts and kiss the sorrow few by few.

I've been longing for daisies to push through the floor
I've never really felt like this before
And I wish plant life would grow all around me
So I won't feel dead anymore
So I won't feel dead anymore

The feeling of death. Emotional death, to be more specific. Well, it’s not really the death of my emotions. Maybe I’d rather say “the almost impossible downward tumble of my feelings.”

Being a teenager is hard; depression strikes. It isn’t permanent. Teenagers are moody. But it’s depression, nonetheless.

And, yes, it is depressing. It is PAINFUL. Of course, duh.

Feeling dead and numb is sad, and it won’t stop the tears from escaping. No way. It will just worsen everything. And I just have to wait there for everything to be sunny and bright again. I’ll have to wait for happy, shining life to creep back into me. It isn’t automatic. It is never automatic. Like I said, I’ll have to wait. I will long for it. Even if it takes more than usual.

If we dissolve without a trace
Will the real world even care?

I always wonder about it: If I just disappear, how will people react? I am ignored in class because of my nature, because I would rather be quiet than gossip, because of my obscurity in being social, simply because of my introversion – my shell. And I’m curious about the future, if I do float away into nothingness. They probably will not notice my absence if all they used were their ears. I’d be flushed down into oblivion; they are oblivious and inattentive.

I am afraid of being too unimportant to people who know me.

I'll travel the sub-zero tundra
I'll break glaciers and frozen lakes
And that's just the tip of the iceberg
I'll do whatever it takes to change

Personality and attitude these days of teenagers who holler and skip about have been deemed to be, well, ugly.

And some of us, it may not be a very noticeable percentage of adolescents or even the teeny bit noticeable, have been trying to improve or change.

Change is hard.

But I think I have been on its road for a while already.

I am not my own

For I have been made new

Please don’t let me go

I desperately need You

It. Is. Hard. To. Believe.

I’m trying harder.

If my heart was a house, you’d be home

Not a romantic sentence for me.

But it is the most TOUCHING, HEARTSTRING-TUGGING, LONGING, TEAR-BRINGING sentence that had ever been put into a song and had brought shivers to my spine and goose bumps to my skin.

I know where home is. I know where home is. I know where home is.