People tend to think that having depressive episodes means stopping eating, neglecting hygiene, and lying in bed for hours, wishing life would just end. I think it was because of that stupid stereotype that I took so long to accept that I'm a functional depressive.
Even with the best doctors, therapists, and medications, I never found that latent willpower that seems to drive other people. When I saw a neurologist, I found out that my body was simply born this way: with chemical imbalances in my brain that turn my "normal" mental state into a constant depressive crisis—without ever having truly felt what happiness is.
Learning that I'll never experience real happiness because my body simply isn't capable of it was a brutal realization. Even after taking several medications, undergoing shock therapy, and trying to take care of myself, I just didn't feel anything. Or almost nothing.
It's been two years since, for some reason, an unlikely combination of the novel The Brightest Star and a curry-flavored cup noodles has managed to do what no treatment ever could: give me a spike of dopamine. The truth is, I'm quite nosy, and I found out about it by accident—overhearing (not so intentionally) some coworkers talking about how exciting that book was. What could be so special about it? I doubted it, but ended up reading it, and the story of Helaine—the young woman who saves the kingdom of Wellisburg from the clutches of a mad general slowly turning into a demon—completely drew me in.
The protagonist is so full of life, so intense, and the love interest… so… so hot, that I found myself laughing out loud, happy, while reading and eating my cup noodles.
It was the first time I'd ever felt something like that. The first glimpse of normality in my entire life. Since then, I've turned it into a weekly ritual—a small dose of dopamine, even with the same old chapters.
Ah… I need to buy more.
Closing the cupboard door, a sigh escaped my lungs. It had been so long since I last went grocery shopping that there was nothing left in the house, including the blessed cup noodles.
Even as a functional depressive, leaving the house is still the worst part. But there was no choice. I took a deep breath and, despite my trembling legs and the urge to lie down again, I clung to my small goal and took the first step outside.
It's okay. I can do this. I don't have to feel this way.
I walked with my head down, trying to think of what I needed to buy: a box of cup noodles, some vegetables, maybe chocolate. At the market, I picked up the first items on my mental list and put them in the basket. I wanted to leave as quickly as possible because I always had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched by Mrs. Mineko, the cashier.
That grumpy old lady always makes a point of commenting on how tired I look. I don't really care, but it's not pleasant being judged by an 86-year-old woman grumpier than me.
Carrots, lettuce, chocolate with raisins… done, just the cup noodles left.
I walked over to the instant noodles aisle, and to my surprise, I actually felt… excited?
There was a special curry-flavored cup noodles edition—the kind that only shows up once in a while. It was the last one. And it was right there, within reach. What luck!
I grabbed the cup like my life depended on it and, along with a few others, headed to the cashier.
Mrs. Mineko looked at me in surprise, as if something about me had changed.
"You… are you alright, Yano?"
I nodded and didn't answer. I just wanted to go home.
When I stepped out of the store, I checked the time. 7:36 p.m. If I walked fast, I'd be home in five minutes.
The light was red, but there were no cars coming. I just wanted to get home already. Screw it.
As I crossed, I opened the bag and grabbed the special cup noodles. There was a faint buzzing sound… Was it my imagination? I'd be fine after a shower and—
What's that bright light…
I turned my head to the left, clutching the cup tightly between my fingers.
Where did that—
A truck appeared out of nowhere and hurled me several meters away. The groceries flew. The truck sped off, fleeing, while people rushed over, shouting.
Little by little, the buzzing began to resemble silence.
What a warm feeling. Nothing hurts. Nothing at all. The sound faded away.
I think I'm going to die since I can't move. Everything's so still. So… peaceful.
But… damn it… my special curry cup noodles… where did it go?
I won't get to eat it…