Last week, over the course of four days I watched all eight of the Harry Potter movies. 1-2 on Tuesday, 3-4 on Wednesday, 5-6-7 on Thursday and 8 on Friday. I’m not sure what compelled me to watch them. I guess I’d have to eventually.
I can’t remember a time where I’ve been this unhappy with my life. The last four years have been excruciating, and it’s somehow inexplicably gotten worse every day. I am long past the point where I don’t see it getting better, or manageable. I know it’s only going to get worse. Lately I’m starting to think it wouldn’t be so bad if it all just… stopped. While I don’t have any plans to kill myself, I’ve thought about it a lot more in 2013 than I ever have.
It really does feel like I’ve run out of love. I’ve certainly run out of friends. I’ve run out of faith in people. I don’t have faith in God or myself. I’ve had people tell me that my life mattered to them, that they would be sad if I died. And all of those people aren’t talking to me anymore. I ran out of second chances too. And even if tomorrow I found new people who cared about me, I don’t think I’m capable of appreciating people anymore. I’m well on the road to becoming completely meaningless.
Back to Harry Potter: these movies did not save my life. They did not heal me, they did not make the pain go away. And I certainly can’t relate, but it was nice to see a story about people who go through unimaginable torment. Not in a perverse satisfaction, but in a weird sense of camaraderie. I can’t sympathize with wizards, but I can empathize with the pain that hopelessness brings.
By the end, I was no happier for my life, but things aren’t quite as empty as they were. They were an involving distraction. I’m actually a little disappointed that I can’t appreciate these films more. I KNOW they’re great. I know this is a once in a lifetime thing we’re talking about here. But numbness is to be expected from clinical depression.
For some reason, I could swear I’d heard beforehand that Voldemort was actually Harry’s father, and that “James” was just what they told him because the truth was too harsh or something. For once, I was disappointed that they didn’t go with the more cliché option. I was actually ready to give Rowling credit for pulling off the Darth Vader twist in this savvy era. Oh well.
My favourite part is either the “possession" at the end of Order of the Phoenix, or the friends dancing to Nick Cave’s "O Children" in Deathly Hallow Pt. 1… I haven’t decided yet.
What I have decided is that I missed out on something important to films and literature. I let the peer pressure of high school prevent me from experiencing it fresh, with everyone else. That’s a mistake I think I’m going to regret as the years go by, as these stories take their rightful place in history.
Even if the ending is sophomoric fan-fiction.