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

Depression: It Isn't a Disease

As you readers may have acknowledged by deconstructing my previous entries, I am most certainly not the most content person to have his fingers touch a keyboard. It is natural for me to find fault with both myself and the rest of society, just as it is natural for me to wish to express my disdain. That in itself is a fault in my nature as a human being as far as I'm concerned. Shit, look at what's happening over in Japan: a fucking tsunami. 600+ already confirmed dead with 10,000+ missing, and I feel the need to bitch and moan, as if I'm going through hard times. The closest I've had to a natural disaster is a 40° day (Celsius, not Fahrenheit :P) and while it's by no means pleasant, it's also nothing compared to a wave towering 10 metres over your head, your house and your family. As destructive and devastating as such an event is, I always look to how natural disasters bring people together as we put differences aside and help one another. I find it strange that as negative a person as I may seem, I try to look on the positive side if at all possible. I am fully aware, however, of that fact that such a feat is easier said than done.

To put it bluntly, I am suffering depression, and I've realised that I've been feeling this way for a lot longer than I've perhaps fooled myself to believe. I'm not sure if there was a definite time or date when I began to think or feel this way, but in a very slow and progressive manner, cynicism and disgust have taken over my otherwise optimistic system. I could perhaps attribute this to my inherent admiration for George Carlin, for whom I have a great deal of respect as a person and from whom I've taken a great deal of inspiration as a comedian. I suppose it's the darker side of being exposed to a whole new way of thinking where you realise that you're just a speck in an ever expanding universe, and that everything around you has been set up to get you in and out as quickly as possible in a subvert attempt to minimise harm, that ironically does harm in a manner not many seem to be able to pick up on: it takes the spice out of life.

I find the best way to describe mood is to put it in terms of a fluorescent light. Good quality lights don't flicker much; they stay on most of the time, and illuminate rooms with relative ease. Some lights are a bit dodgy, and flicker a bit, but they're on for the fair majority of their run. Then there are lights that aren't so great; lights that never stop flickering. Sometimes they flicker really quickly in a manner more erratic than a hamster on methamphetamines, and other times they stay on for ages in a surprising instance of irradiated confidence. Sometimes, the power goes out, and even though it can stay out for a very, very long time, it comes back eventually. Sometimes, we decide to switch the light off, destroying its ability to shine, but leaving the possibility for further radiance contiguous. But sometimes, we go so far as to cut the wires; I'm in the process of soldering my previously tattered connection.

There are plenty of things that bring me joy to a level I can hardly contain: performing stand-up, improvising, multiplayer gaming, philosophical discussion, just to name a few, and these things have such value to me because they're rare occurrences. There are things that I've grown addicted to (namely watching improv and stand-up, as well as sleeping :P) that used to bring with them a far higher level of satisfaction that's been lost in their saturation; each instance of a repeated action has less of an effect on us as people, whatever that effect may be. In the most extreme cases, it takes the complete removal of an element from your life for you to realise its true worth; for me, that was my girlfriend.

We didn't split because I was taking her for granted; even though she dealt with the issue in an incredibly selfish manner, her reasoning of "I don't like you anymore," though harsh, is understandable and believable. Only when she was gone did I realise how happy she made me, and it was this that perhaps led me to cut my wires; I didn't think my bulb would get enough power, so I had to recover enough resources to allow the light to shine without having to worry about it suddenly going out. This metaphor is getting ahead of me :P

I find it to be a cruel irony how the things that make me happy are, for the most part, being with other people, whether it be performing with or for them, being leisurely with them, or even speaking with them, but feeling the way I do now leads me away from people rather than towards them. It's unusual how I deal with the same problem in different forms. For example, when I'm sick (as in, physically ill) I go to a doctor and get a prescription, actively seeking an artificial solution because I think I need it, leaving my natural immune system out of the question. Impatience and lack of faith takes hold, and I take the easy way out; we all do it. But, when I'm mentally deprived, I refuse such treatment, because I want as little dependency in this area as possible. I feel it's my responsibility to get myself out of such a predicament, but also acknowledge that this requires the efforts of others on my part.

I suppose my main fear is to become reliant on a counselor or therapist; yes, the profession exists for a reason and I can appreciate its worth to people with extremely poor mental health, but I'm just a bit blue, that's all! I don't need some fucker with a degree telling me how to think better; I need to find out myself so I can deal with problems as they arise without having to resort to "professional help." Dealing with these kinds of problems is something you learn through experience, and giving that experience to someone who's studied it for 3 to 4 years is a fucking waste. If you're on the verge of suicide or some other horrific or tragic fate, that's when you get help from the therapist. Otherwise, just get some buddies together and do something you love doing! No, it won't make all the pain go away, but it fucking helps!

Find something that makes you happy, and chase it. Listen to music, watch movies, go to the theatre, go out and party, have long winded discussions about cheese; the choice is yours, and in my case, the choice is to chase another girl. Have I found my next target? Yes, I have! Is this chase a permanent solution to my depression? Of course not! There is no such thing as a permanent solution; only temporary solutions, and you've just gotta find the one which lasts until the day you die, being careful not to abuse it and destroy its worth. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a good thing, because you need depression in your life; you just have to learn to harness and control it, and learn from it.

Remember: without bad times, there are no good times by comparison.