Reflection from February 10, 2008 @ 26 Years Old
INTRODUCTION – This is a long essay pulled from a much lengthier composition, in which the writer describes the effects of the American Society on her 20-something American Psyche.
I thought about Dave earlier today, just about an hour ago really, and I remembered something so entirely endearing it made me smile (which is a rare occurrence these days), and now I’m so entirely irritated because I can’t f’ing remember what it was. The incident was rare itself, really, because I usually only remember the most painful of memories relating to Dave. It was a breath of fresh air in my stale vacuumed atmosphere of existence.
Thinking, thinking…I just can’t seem to remember now, but I do remember that it made me think about love. It made me think about the kind of love that begins at first sight, and then grows stale and old and forgotten. And well, in comparison, the kind of love that begins at first sight, but doesn’t come round full circle for some time. I imagine my love for Dave was of the latter kind; I really want to believe he felt the same too. But now I shall never know.
I don’t know, I can’t remember. I’m highly disappointed in my memory, but then again what else is new? My memory’s failed me most of my life. It was something amazing though, it brought joy into my cold empty heart.
Anyways, that happened and then I started remembering more from high school, how I used to dread going in on Monday and Fridays because everyone would be all “what are you going to do this weekend?” and “what did you do last weekend?”. I remember how ashamed I was, how hard it was to hide that I didn’t have any friends and stayed home every Friday and Saturday night. How can you explain to other teenagers that being around other people is far more painful than being alone? How does a teenager explain such a thing to herself?
Which led me to think, how in the world can you explain to a child why some children get to have new clothes and go on vacations and do fun things while other children are not so lucky? I think it’s telling that adults have constantly to lie to children in order to protect them from the very world these parents brought them into. Some people think it’s a selfish act, to not want to have children, but if we’re judging – who’s to say it’s not more selfish to make carbon copies when you could help out a child who’s already been born into this hell on earth without a soul who actually cares for them? How in the world do you explain to a child that some kids have parents who love them, and others have parents who beat them and molest them and degrade them? I don’t understand how ever people choose to bring children into this world. Except that I can, and I’m sure in most instances (except of course rape, and the like) it’s only the temporary euphoria of love that in fact, does make this world go round.
Well maybe not round, but I’m sure love is primarily responsible for the repopulation of human beings on this earth. It’s such a shame that this love that brings children into this otherwise unbearable life of suffering, is primarily what a person spends their entire life suffering in search for. Anyways…
I’ve lots to say, I’ve been taking notes because I’ve been too tired to write the past few days, which is kind of disappointing because I think I always write better when writing in the heat of passion. But whatever, the ideas obviously were somewhat important if I recorded them for later explanation. Here goes…(aarrghhh I’m so f’ing annoyed I can’t remember what it is about David that I’ve now forgotten – it’s fitting, don’t you think, that one of the few memories of Dave that actually brought joy into my life, was here but a minute and is now banished from my mind.)
Well, I was thinking the other day, about how, for me, most of my life, it’s been far worse living out my life sentence of loneliness in the presence of others, than it has been living out my existence in the absence of others. It’s funny how people assume that those who are mentally ill are isolating on purpose, as if we’d prefer to be alone. What they fail to realize is the concept that being lonely in the presence of others is far worse than being lonely, alone. Okay that’s kind of reiterating what I said above, so let us move on…
This isn’t what I’m trying to remember, but I do think it’s also telling that I went to see Star Wars (and that’s emphasis for the idea, not to indicate it’s a movie title), anyways, I went to see Star Wars with Dave and his friends just so I could spend three hours sitting next to this boy. Boy was I mad about him.
One of the most difficult things in this life is to realize that everyone around you, your friends and your family and everyone else, has moved on, when you have been stuck in the same place for what seems like an eternity. I just feel like such a child, I feel so much younger than I’m supposed to be, which is funny too because I also look much younger than I’m supposed to be – always have.
Anyways (and I’m sorry I keep saying that, but it really is my most favorite transitional phrase), nothing makes me feel more lonely than when the people around me are moving forward, buying houses and going on vacations and getting engaged and getting married, having babies, when here I am, stuck in the past. Or is it the present? I don’t even know! That’s the worst part.
It’s funny how truly I understand what Kurt Cobain meant when he said he wished he was so easily amused. I think most people in my life are amused with such simple things because they don’t need meaning in their life to justify the pain of existence. Some people live and breathe and do things and spend time with other people and go to places and really that’s all they need in life, to be immediately amused. But others, ohh others live not in constant comfort, but rather the opposite and need more in order to sustain. People commit suicide because living is far more painful than facing the mystery and finality that come with death.
What most people don’t understand, in regard to suicide, is that it really, in most cases, has nothing at all to do with circumstance. It has to do with consciousness, namely an inherently painful one – a concept which cannot be understood without being felt. People fundamentally misunderstand the underlying premise of suicide, but judge all the same because they think they know what it’s like. They have no idea, and if they did, they’d be singing a different song altogether I’m quite sure.
Alright, I’m getting tired of writing and have to work on my bar application.
You know what else is funny my dear friend? I find it poignantly striking that I write and I write, hell this is already a 6-1/2 page paper…single-spaced, just from today, and I’m still going; anyways, it’s that I write and I write and when I tell people I write, they can’t even imagine what in the world I could go on talking about for such substantial lengths of time.
I find that my mind is one that delves infinitely into thought that sometimes relates to present circumstance, or is perhaps triggered voluntarily or involuntarily by present circumstance, but my mind travels at such speeds and to such far reaching places that I’m sure, even upon good faith effort, “normal” persons will never understand. And it leads me to wonder, is that what people mean when they talk about a person having depth?
Does “depth” indicate that the given person is one possessing a mind capable of delving to such great depths in order to ponder such a thing as the meaning of life? Because I’ll tell you what, a lot of people couldn’t really care less about the meaning of life. They take life for granted and don’t wonder about why we are here, and what it all means, and whether it will all be worthwhile in the end.
It’s so intriguing, the thought that the depth of a person is premised upon the depth to which their mind wanders. And when speaking of depth of mind, is that referring to the soul? I think they can tell which parts of the brain are attached to each bodily sensation, and maybe which part of the brain is primarily responsible for thought even, but I don’t think those doctors yet know what exactly is responsible for the actual thoughts that run through any one of our heads at any particular moment.
You know, I was reading on the Internet, and I can’t find the exact quote now, but I just wanted to say that I read somewhere on the Internet that one symptom of mania is a rhyming or rhythmic pattern in thought. Which is interesting, because when I’m manic I think that’s when I feel like I can write with beautifully rhythmic precision. It’s hard to explain, but when I get to that state of being, I love the way I write – so passionately and so beautifully, it just sounds beautiful, the words sound so much more beautiful, they’re so much more than mere words when I write in this state. Anyways, I thought that was interesting as I think it’s linked with bipolar and my being such some and all.
I read something particularly disturbing I want to mention, when I was looking for that rhythm thing. Some girl wrote about why her bipolar experience is so difficult, saying that she didn’t like it because she couldn’t tell when it was her making decisions or when it was her disease making her decisions. I quite disagree; I think my personality is embodied in my bipolar disorder. I believe in large part that who I am consists of who I am when I am manic and who I am when I am depressed, and also who I am when I am right in the middle (though this is a rare occurrence I must admit). I believe my personality, who I am, is inextricable from my bipolar illness – it makes me, me.
Another disturbing thing I read, one article stated that people in manic states “like to think” that they are the smartest, most brilliant people alive. This is fundamentally wrong and I’m willing to bet that someone who is not bipolar wrote this. A person in a manic state does not “like to think” they are brilliant, they just do. There’s no choice involved, kind of like there’s no choice to manage our moods, they’re up or they’re down but it’s pretty much out of our control. To assert that someone who is in a manic state “likes to think” that they are brilliant is the same as saying that a person induces their own manic state by choice of thought. Fundamentally wrong in the entirety. Whoever wrote that should be banned from ever writing on bipolar disorder again.
Ohh boy, I’ve been writing for so long and my eyes hurt from looking at the computer screen so really I’ve got to wrap it up here quite soon. I’ma take a dinner break first though, then finish up, then start my m’f’g bar exam application.
You know, I have this thing going on for me in that I absorb all these words right, just through reading and daily life and the like, and then when I’m writing and a tone and idea is created, descriptive words randomly pop into my mind, which I cannot define off hand but rather just seem to fit the context, and when I look them up in the dictionary they almost always do fit to the context. I wonder if that has to do with the bipolar. Strange. Okay, din dins…
Okay, no, just one more thing I have to mention before I go. I’ve been in a depressed state for days now, but I think I’m entering mania today. I’ve barely been hungry since yesterday, my mind has been racing since last night, I couldn’t fall asleep last night until 4am, I feel high high high like I’m on a cocaine rush and then I crash and burn and feel absolutely exhausted. I’m so fucking tired. My mind is all over the place. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know if I’m manic or normal or fucking crazy. I don’t know.
I’m pissed I can’t remember whatever it was I remembered earlier regarding Dave. It’s just as well though – it’s fitting that his memory brings mostly pain, as did our relationship. I think I derived the greatest joy out of my life thus far from my relationship with him, and yet it’s also given birth to my greatest sorrows.
Anyways, what else? I read this waste of a time book called Bimbo Blondes from New York City who never have to work because they inherited all the money and all the riches they could ever hope for in a lifetime. It was incredibly annoying, stupidly entertaining at best. The fucking main character speaks of suicide with such naivety it makes me want to puke. She dishonors the suffering of millions of people through nothing more than her own stupidity. It made me very angry. Did I mention I’m feeling incredibly irritable?
Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to take medication three times a day just to be “normal”, to be able to “fit in”? No one knows what that is like unless they’ve been there. When your own mind, your own body betrays you constantly, it’s a terribly murderous feat finding reason enough to go on.
What people don’t understand is that you cannot understand mental illness if you have not yet been victim to it. It’s not rational, it doesn’t fucking make sense. Mental illness makes a person different from the norm, sometimes for better, many times for the worse. But it’s not a decision, a lack of fucking willpower that renders us this way.
We are powerless in choosing our mental states in the same way we are powerless in choosing our families. Mental illness is not a choice, it’s a condition. A life-sentence is the best way to describe it. A life sentence of almost constant misery with few and far moments of ecstasy in between that merely render everyday life all the more miserable. It’s just not something you can understand through reason, and I wish people would stop trying to make sense of it all. It defies all rationality we otherwise cling to with our dear lives.
We are chosen and we serve our sentence, sometimes people just can’t take it. I think it helps to have creative outlets and it does seem to help in a lot of ways to not drink and do drugs in order to manipulate – but do not be fooled my friend, there is no opt-out for mental illness. There is no get-out-of-jail-free card. We are sentenced for life, and there’s not a damn thing we can do to change our fate.
Alright, another thought, they don’t stop coming. And I’ll have you know I never fucking started my bar application. Ahh well…
I was just thinking about one day last year when I was temping and talking with this really nice guy Troy, who said he was married and I think both were divorced prior with kids, and all together they had like four or five kids. Well anyways, I remember saying I don’t know how people do it, work fulltime and take care of kids and do all the other bullshit you have to do for life. I said “ohh boy, I only have me to take care of and my two cats, and feel guilty because I don’t even spend all that much time with them!”
I wonder, now, whether I made that guy feel really fucking lousy in making that observation.
It’s true though, I understand parts of people wanting to have kids and all, but if you barely even have any time left over after work to spend with them anyways, what the hell’s the point in the damn first place? I can’t presume to know because I’ve never had a child myself, and I suspect that if I did some of my viewpoints might change. But I can speculate and wonder, and I’ll tell you I often do.