He looked different from most of the depressed patients that walk into a psychiatric clinic. He was 24, thin and spare. His hair was longer than average and hung loosely over his brow, his clothes were black and macabre –what the young folks call “Goth”. That style makes everyone look depressed, but I could tell his depression ran deeper than fashion styles.
He was actually a handsome young man, and he had sensibly avoided the face and body piercings that Goths favor. He was open about his choice of lifestyle, relishing his chance to educate me. But while he was talking, I could see he was so depressed, he could have been the poster child for the diagnostic manual.
But something more was going on here. He told me that he had adopted the Goth look at age 13; that nothing else could express how he felt about life — or rather, how he didn’t feel. Read more on What If Life Is Not Worth Living?…