As if by habit, I fall into the well of melancholy every so often. I tell people that I’m confused or just in an unstable state of mind. “Why?” they ask, rightly so. The answer is always something like; “Never mind”, “It’s nothing”, “Let’s not talk about it”, or “I don’t know”. But the question echoes in my mind as I sweep back into the familiar comfort —or discomfort.

Okay but why exactly? It is not uncommon for me to blame innocent factors to rationalise my melancholy. Reasons can strip me of my responsibilities. Relief… Yet, that is but a deception, an escape from the unknown. The frequency of this phenomenon fills me with guilt.

“Pain makes me feel alive” is another attempt at dodging the spears of reality. I must be faulty, or the way I live. Why would I be driven into melancholy out of nowhere otherwise? It must be confusing for my friends and my loved ones to see me drifting off to a troublesome and fruitless brainstorming session just three hours after spending valuable and enjoyable time together. It is an implicit statement that they are the reason why I’m down. It is a disrespectful way of sharing experiences, if not a full-on disgrace.

I was cycling on a hill back to my dorm when I realised that I do this out of habit. Small, daily things that I keep inside turn into existential inner battles, a pinch of nightly jealousy morphs into an oath of revenge and a normal, satisfying day evolves into an undeserved blessing. Consequently, I start radiating rays of misery.

Habits are never broken, though, they can be replaced. Maybe my melancholy initially replaced some other habit that I’d forgotten to keep dear to me. And now, in order to return from this cold cold night that hides the full moon behind shameless clouds, I must simply do. Unlike what I have grown accustomed to, doing will save me from having to run away. I do not have to be brave anymore —not that I was any good at it— as there will be nothing to fear. I will do with great pleasure to gain great pleasure. I shall enjoy my companions in this meaningless roleplay in order to make meaning, and with meaning shall melancholy be driven away.

This is one of the peculiar instances of scripts where I finish positively: I promise to me, myself and my self that I will replace my recent habit that cripples my will of life, melancholy.