Inadequacy: Seemingly Preferable to Intervention

WARNING GUARANTEE: This album contains material which a truly free society would neither fear nor suppress. In some socially retarded areas, religious fanatics and ultra-conservative political organizations violate your First Amendment Rights by attempting to censor rock & roll albums. We feel that this is un-Constitutional and un-American. As an alternative to these government-supported programs (designed to keep you docile and ignorant), Barking Pumpkin is pleased to provide stimulating digital audio entertainment for those of you who have outgrown the ordinary. The language and concepts contained herein are GUARANTEED NOT TO CAUSE ETERNAL TORMENT IN THE PLACE WHERE THE GUY WITH THE HORNS AND POINTED STICK CONDUCTS HIS BUSINESS. This guarantee is as real as the threats of the video fundamentalists who use attacks on rock music in their attempt to transform America into a nation of check-mailing nincompoops (in the name of Jesus Christ). If there is a hell, its fires wait for them, not us.

'Warning' found on the inner sleeve of Frank Zappa Meets The Mothers of Prevention, by Frank Zappa

Reading shit like that just makes me smile... which helps a lot :P 

Only a few hours ago, I was feeling really down: I felt almost worthless, as though I was little more than a bother to anyone and everyone around me—classic depression symptoms all over again :P  What was strange, though, was that I didn't want it to go away. Have you ever felt like that? You ever been moping around, feeling absolutely horrible, as though you're worth nothing, yet you don't want to stop feeling that way? I find that unusual, but at the same time it makes sense from a certain perspective.

The way I see it: I get myself in these states of depression when one negative thought is pondered on for too long, culminating in to many more negative thoughts which quickly destroys any notion of happiness or worth—this was mentioned in my previous entry, the process perfectly understood. This is followed by me pondering the worst possible scenarios I can think of pertaining to these negative thoughts, where my life is beyond all meaning and hope is completely lost. This is then assumed to be what will happen to me in the future, resulting in a predictable emotional purge. This purge is usually nothing more than me sitting around continuing to ponder on and internally progress this personal hell, at times resulting in tears, although this is usually short lived and is never far beyond my control—I'm not wailing or screaming, just quietly crying. This has happened many times before (far more often last year when I was actually bona fide depressed :P) and as such is of no surprise to me.

What happens after this, however, is a little perplexing: I don't want it to stop. I want to maintain this state of despair; I want to go on feeling sad rather than recovering and feeling any better. That's what I don't want: recovery, a resolve, a reason to quit feeling the way I do. I want to feel like this forever, never returning to whatever positive state I was in before the episode in question started; I want to accept emotional defeat, like it's the more rational thing to do (with happiness being such a pipe dream and all), and go on living the rest of my life in this condition. The reason for this, as far as I can tell, is simple: what goes up must come down. I've just come down... again :P  Therefore, it seems unreasonable to get up and expect to stay up—to expect not to come down again—so the only 'reasonable' option is to remain down forever, never getting up as to never fall back down. I want the emotional rollercoaster (no, I don't know how to get off—everyone else left the ride when puberty stopped, but I'm still here :P) to be flat, without extreme inclines or drop-offs.

The problem with this want is that once you're down so low, where else do you go but up? Everything's up from down here! That's why it takes so little to make me happy in this state: anything's better than nothing! Now, all it takes is a fucking short comic performance on YouTube or (as printed above) a cynical quotation from a strident social critic and I'm back to normal! Just another revolution on the closed emotional loop that is my life of exclusion :P
 
Speaking of my life in general, the theory seems to hold on a larger scale too: for the past 4 years (save the six months where I was in a relationship), I've been content simply wanting to go out with a particular girl; the mere interest is enough to hold me over emotionally. Even as late as last October, as soon as a particular girl became a realistic focus for me, I woke up every day with a smile on my face: I had reason to live! I had something to look forward to without fail: a conversation, or even seeing her, or even thinking about her made me happy, just as it did with all the other girls I'd previously liked! Just knowing there was the possibility of a relationship was enough to keep me out of the blues; even after I'd been in a relationship, hence hypothetically needing more than just the 'possibility' to hold me over, it only took mere thought to satisfy me. This, combined with the fear of rejection also mentioned in the previous entry (which itself is fuelled by feelings of worthlessness—hooray for more circles! :P) gives me no good reason to actually ask the girl I like out—why ruin a perfectly good fantasy? Why fuck up the status quo when you can stay happy without potentially making the woman's life worse? This is clearly the more thoughtful, considerate option :P

I am recognising, however, that thoughts are becoming darker. I've always wondered if I've legitimately considered suicide before—I've joked about it a lot, but I don't think I've ever truly wanted to off myself. Having said that, the thought has gone through my head, more regarding how people would react if I did such a thing. Visions of my work being published posthumously are contrasted with images of people hearing about my death and simply not giving a fuck. I often picture myself saying 'You know, if I got hit by a truck, I can count the people who'd give a fuck on my own two hands'—this is certainly not true today, as there are way more than ten people who'd care if I died (surely my family isn't that heartless :P), but this future of absolute isolation seemingly makes such a statement frighteningly possible. In these troubled times, I've also often pondered closing my Facebook account, leaving my phone off, never opening MSN and not seeing my friends at uni—basically committing 'social suicide'—but I never go through with that. So long as the number of people negatively affected by my would-be suicide remains a positive integer, it will not be so.

I don't feel like I can talk to my friends about anything anymore, hence my coming here to vent. I used to be able to talk to one or two friends about things like this, but I feel that those people have done more than their fair share of work, and I'd feel rude talking to anyone else because I feel as though people have better shit to do than take any part in sorting my problems out :P  A counsellor won't help either—the only reason I got better when seeing a counsellor last year was because as soon as I started seeing the counsellor, I developed feelings for someone. Correlation like that appears to imply causation, but sometimes, it simply ain't so :P  That's exactly what I begin to think happiness is in those dark moments: nothing more than an illusion of a worry-free life, where hope is just a façade to keep me numb to what life really is. That's not true, though: my happiness is just as genuine as my sadness; and, unsurprisingly, when I'm finally happy after being depressed for a while, I say to myself  'You know what? This is so much better than being mopey! I wanna stay like this!'... then I do nothing to maintain myself and the loop of bi-polarity continues.

Q.E.D