Italian
Those who suffer from depression live poorly and die even worse. It’s a harsh truth—difficult to say but impossible to deny.
ITALY – It comforts us to think that death may come unexpectedly during a moment of peace, like a gentle sleep that arrives without warning. But this idea — “they passed away peacefully” — is more for those left behind than for the one who departs. It’s a social comfort phrase, not an inner reality.
Those who truly understand depression, who have looked into the eyes of those trapped by it, know it knows no peace. Serenity is a mirage, belonging neither to the life nor the death of someone with depression. A clear sky is calm, when the sun doesn’t blind and the air is gentle; but the depressed person always looks down. They don’t see the sky. They prefer twilight to light, silence to noise, solitude to company — especially if cheerful.
What fuels depression, though it isn’t its cause, is the relentless pursuit of success.
Success becomes an absolute ideal, an unreachable idol. Every milestone reached only creates another, always farther away. There is never rest in this insatiable race.
Failure, then, is not an event: it is a fate. Those suffering from depression are never happy, never fulfilled, never at peace with themselves. Guilt haunts them, pushing them to seek relief through effort and sacrifice. It’s a brief respite, a truce that lasts only a little while.
As Saint Augustine wrote: “I am worth where I do not want to be, and I want where I am not worth.”
It is the perfect image of a tortured soul, condemned never to find rest.
For those living this condition, the glory they chase—idealized as an absolute value and never attainable—ends up losing meaning. Glory becomes vain.
So, what medicine can soothe this deep unease, which many call melancholy?
Perhaps only one: to give up on success.
To accept life without measuring it by triumphs or defeats.
And above all, not to see failures as punishments, but as an inevitable and human part of our existence.
