Depression asks: “To be or not be?” July 5, 2009
When I first created this journal-whatever, I never really expected it would be read. Maybe I’m putting everyone in my shoes. I don’t click the thousands of blue lettered words that link to various blogs and journals of people, regardless of me knowing them or not. This may probably sound insensitive and generally indifferent, but I don’t really consider their posts as part of my business. In effect, I didn’t think they would make it their business.
Whatever their motives were for clicking on the link on my YM, be it out of general concern or boredom (I sincerely hope the former), I was touched that they, my friends, bothered to read my post at all. More than that, it’s the fact that they actually tried to cheer me up. Tell me that it’s all right. Or that they’re there. For me.
In the past, I’ve always considered myself as a friendless persons. I have a lot of acquaintances, but nothing more. Maybe I used to have friends, when I was young and innocent and considered every kid I meet as my BFF. I’ve went through a lot of users, traitors and friends who were only there for the namesake of “friend”. I thought that I was a replacable person in this world. That nobody would care if I didn’t exist at all. That I’ve touched nobody’s life enough for them to miss me. I thought I was better dead. Or worse, I was already dead. I still think so. But..
Right now, I’m having doubts. Indeed, I may have been friendless before, but am I still like that? Are the people I met, who now call themselves my friends at the moment, real? It’s unfair for me to think such stuff. I honestly know that if I were in their place, I would be hurt upon realizing my friend doesn’t think I care for her. I’m sorry. I really am. It’s just that, I don’t know.
I’m depressed and I know I gave reasons but really that was a pitiful attempt to try and see sense in this sadness. Maybe if I list down what depresses me, I could do something about it. But really, I don’t know if I’m simply making excuses or what. Because school may stress me but that could be remedied by working harder. As for the inferiority complex, I can’t expect myself to stand out in such a big world. It’s life. My family, yes, they’re annoying and they have their flaws, but I have them as well. My lovelife can wait. My future I can set up. My meaning I can strive for. So really, what am I depressed about?
I really honestly wish to die right now. But I am hoping for a beacon of light to tell me I shouldn’t, not because it’s bad, but because they don’t want me to. I want attention. I want friends. I want care and concern and love. I am so sorry but will you please tell me that I have?
Reasons to be Depressed (Or rather, why I’M depressed) Part 1 July 4, 2009
1. School Related Stress.
Where to start? Grades, exam, professors and a very serious inferiority complex. Try studying at the most prestigious school in your country, among the brightest minds of your time and see if you won’t get depressed. God, I used to believe I was good, even great. Here and there I got compliments I knew I deserved (yes, I am proud, arrogant and narcissistic). Now, I don’t even think I am a paramecium compared to the greatness and mothereffin size of these people’s brains. Can you honestly blame for breaking apart after falling down the pedestal I stood on all my life? I feel so stupid, like I would never get anywhere.
2. Family.
The definition of my family (I don’t know about yours) is simply “people who annoy me to the core, telling me what to do and how to do it, as if they’re the brightest, most important and pristine people in the worl and I’m a stupid good-for-nothing.” As if I didn’t feel stupid or useless already.
3. Future.
I have no future. I am not going to die. Actually, if I was going to, that meant I would actually have a future. At least, death would be certain. But no. I have no future. My career is undecided, heck I don’t even know what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t even have any personal plans. I wish it was as simple as when I was a kid and anything I want or say (“When I grow up, I…). I was happy then. Oh, why did I grow up?
4. Loveless Love Life.
You know the worst kind of lovelife aside from being the heartbroken, unrequited, cheated, cheatee, unfated and tragic? Fake. People I love aren’t even real. I live in my dreams, life jsut doesn’t do me justice. I fall in and out of love in this world too many times I no longer recall which are flings, crushes or love (if I actually had one). And now, I am seriously frustrated and afraid I would grow up and die alone. Damn it, it’s bad enough I live in a house surrounded by old maids, do I need to be one? I want someone, anyone, really. Just a chance. I want to feel what it’s like to have someone call me just to hear my voice, hold my hand while I’m walking, take me on dates, or if these are too cliches or demanding, just someone to be with.
5. Meaningless.
I don’t exactly have a purpose in life. I have no goal, no redempting factor whatsoever. I don’t know why I’m alive and worse, I have no idea why there is a need for me to be alive anyway. Nobody would miss me. If they did, it will pass. Just like every meaningless thing/people in this world.
Depressed. I need help.
I Hear Dead People 0_o June 27, 2009
June 26, 2009, the news of the King of Pop, Michael Jackson’s death shook the world. Millions of fans stare at their TV screens, mouth agape at the sudden news. What happens next? The story circulates. It’s the topic of every show and gossip. And then, here comes the songs.
The same thing occurred with the death of Francis Magalona, the rap master of the Philippines. After his death, mourned by many, including my aunts who watch GMA’s tribute with tears spilling from their eyes as if they knew him personally. After a few days, when the news about him finally subsides, I hear the songs.
Everywhere. Cars, shops, streets and inside my very own house I hear his songs repeatedly played like a broken record. Not that I mind, I was part of that apparent “culture.” (If you could call it such). I would sing along to Kaleidoscope World and Cold Summer Nights along with the rest of the people I come across with.
This morning, I woke up to Billie Jean and Thriller played with maximum volume by my aunt who was then ironing clothes. It was so loud it reached my deep slumber, and that’s saying something considering I am a very, very deep sleeper.
The television shows nothing but the face of the late MJ and I figured after the news dulled a bit, the songs won’t. I’m expecting people to once again reach into their drawers and dust off their records of his songs (like what we did).
After their death, their music haunts every nook and cranny of our lives. Everywhere. I keep hearing dead people.
So now I ask why?
Is it because of the artists’ contribution to our lives? Is it the mark they imprinted on us? Is it their popularity?
Is it because we people are stupid and so confirms the saying, “You won’t appreciate what you have until you lost it”?
Yes. Yes. Yes. And hell yeah.
Where the Roads Split: Man’s Search for Meaning June 27, 2009
There are two kinds of people in the world – those who ask questions and those who seek the answers. There are people who ask why sea levels rise and fall; and there are those who pick up books and say, head bobbing in understanding, “Ah, it’s because of the moon’s gravitational pull!” In Victor Frankl’s account of the camp life in Auschwitz, Man’s Search for Meaning, he likewise distinguished between men who question life and demand meaning, and men he considers heroic for letting life question them that they may look for the answers – the meaning – themselves.
The search for meaning however remains out of man’s reach. And so, Frankl’s relates a factual story of extremism. Humans born of common, ordinary circumstances cannot be expected to produce in themselves more than what is, by nature, their due. They do not push to the limit, because it is not needed and simply because doing so causes displeasure. It is, after all, also human nature to have a share of hedonism. But in the case of a man, thrown in a camp where he is forced to abandon all hedonistic notions and struggle not only for survival but for the very will to survive as well, there comes a change in pattern. In the extreme circumstance, an opportunity arises to make something deemed out of reach be in arm’s length.
In Man’s Search for Meaning, Auschwitz is depicted as nothing less than extreme. Like other camps built at that time, it contained facilities that were made to hold a lot less people than they actually did; it enforced hard labor in the most arduous environment and conditions; it provided food and nutrition that could barely keep small animals alive, much less humans; and it housed a number of sadistic guards that punish for the sake of punishment. It did stand out among others, however, because of its reputation for having gas chambers and crematoriums, which never failed to further instill fear in the unfortunate Jewish prisoners.
As one of the survivors of that camp, Victor Frankl personally experienced the harshness of camp life and he now recalls it both subjectively and objectively to give his readers a glimpse, if not an understanding of their history. Amidst the suffering, the extremeness of it all, comes the opportunity to finally grasp the meaning of life. On the road to that epiphany, the path is split. Picking either way would cause them suffering. Both roads lead to an uncertain ending. The entire ordeal is uncertain, played almost cruelly by luck and fate. The only certainty there is that they have to go either way, and the decision on which to pursue is theirs, and theirs alone.
One of the paths is laid out for the “questioners”. They constantly demanded reason for the injustice of their circumstance. They suffered and complained about it, asking “Why me?” or “Do I deserve this?” and “What is there to live for when all life gives me is suffering?” These questions were evoked, but none of them were answered. And so, after the bitterness, anger and unresolved questions, hope was lost. They gave up. They succumbed to the wretched life designed by their environment, where there is apathy and an ultimate loss of values and existence. And with that, the meaning of life escaped the palm of their hands.
The second path is for the “seekers”. Indeed, they questioned the injustice of it all, but they were not passive receptors to the shaping of the environment. Instead of moping, they made full use of the opportunity given to them. They seized the chance of gaining a greater sense of spirituality, a deeply rooted awareness of morality, an aesthetical appreciation of art in nature, a genuine understanding and commitment to love and an indestructible will to survive any how with a why, as Nietzsche had put it, regardless of whatever that why is. More importantly, they took the opportunity to listen to life and let it define itself, its meaning, through the experiences they underwent. They did what life expected of them – to move forward and simply live.
Frankl, biased as he may be to his own morals and beliefs, did not ignore the flaws in those “seekers”. These people were not gloriously perfect and righteous. In some ways they were like the “questioners”. They were times when they strayed from the road, halted or took a few steps back. They are after all human. They fell prey to apathy and to selfishness, including Frankl himself as he wrote his account as the doctor who had to watch people die and not care. These are merely products of adaptation. It is humans’ natural instinct to adjust to their environment in order to protect themselves both physically and mentally. Other defense mechanisms came in the form of regression, fantasies, alcohol, nicotine and suicide. They directly contradict the notion of keeping moral values and sanity, but the body demands and the mind pressures people to resort to such things if those are what kept them alive. They provided a few seconds of relief, short and temporary, but it helped ease things which in turn contributed to their survival. Once again, the role of the environment comes upfront in shaping people. The difference here is that the shaping was limited. It could only go so far. Humans are forced by instinct and environment but they still have the choice on whether to comply to or go against it. There may be moments of indifference and even violence, but humanity still dominated. The apathy exhibited by Frankl’s case was overturned during the night of his would-be escape, when he chose to stay behind to care for a dying typhus patient. That makes all the difference.
The lives of the Auschwitz prisoners describe the journey of the “questioners” and “seekers” pushed to the extreme. Those who questioned life for meaning were denied and became hopeless. It had a domino effect. First came the mind and then the body. On the other hand, those who sought meaning for life were given the why to carry on.
The transitions gone through by the prisoners of the concentration camps not only told their struggle of survival but also their encounter with meaning. Through the initial shock, blind optimism, longing, disgust, violence, indifference and bitterness, they could and did come out intact.
The world may never fully take hold of the hope and hopelessness brought upon by the dark era of the Holocaust. Although their fate is that which one would not wish upon himself, it gave the right contrast that gives man the chance of appreciation. The flame of a candle is brighter in stark darkness. The flowers smell more fragrant after a stench. Life becomes more meaningful after suffering. It is ironic to think that man must lose before he wins. Then again, wars are not separated into allies and enemies; imprisonment into captives and guards; and men into good and evil. These things are not contradictions. They are causations.
Life necessitates suffering as much as it requires meaning. Meaning can be achieved through the suffering. The choice is left to man. This is where the road splits. This is where the journey for man’s most important search begins.
~This is a review on the first chapter of Man’s Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl.
Public Transportation. (A reply really). June 24, 2009
From: http://http://kyogakura.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/stark-naked-17/
DEAREST VIEWERS,
It’s been a while since i put up anything from my notebook. you see, i haven’t gotten over the shock of almost losing my 6th drawing notebook. it’s like a really really close person to me. almost like my child in a way [i mean heck, i created it, fed it, scolded it and BATHED IT]. so yeah, i’m still kinda careful with it these days.
anywho, here’s another one. this links up with STARK NAKED [12]. they’re the same characters really. the inspiration for this was…i forgot. go figure. there are clues from SN[12] comments [thank you, paka].
i’ll post the 3rd drawing of these characters some time this week. hope the school won’t kill me ’til then.
DYING FROM PUBLIC COMMUTING,
KYOICHI HAGAYAKURA
PS.
I like cheese with hot bread.
Yeah, yeah public transport sucks, especially in your case. Three or something hours of travel? I’d die. I gave up long hour jeepney rides long ago. Come on, the heat, the smell, pollution – not to mention the risk of getting robbed considering I fall asleep during the ride at about 99% probability. I figured I could just take advantage of the modern mode of transportation – LRT. Sure, it’s crowded and stuffy and all. But it’s fast. And convenient. and fast. And i don’t fall asleep. Did I mention fast?
It’s a pity about that notebook. Boo you for losing your children. I hope you saved a copy, or that would have been waste. Like abortion, you hate that right? I mourn for the lost younglings. I mean, I’m one of the avid fans of your drawings. I actually plan on signing up as their godparent. Please? I want full custody when you die. (Watch your back!)
School won’t definitely kill you. Us. There are worse things than death. Like torture. Organic chemistry nomenclature. And professors at their puberty stage, in serious need of a full system scan and a joke book.
PS. You gave me a thought. Let’s put hot bread ON cheese! (Now I’m hungry again.)
The Makings of an Online Journal June 23, 2009
I have never kept a diary. I tried once, but just like everything else I started, it was never finished/continued. I was far too lazy to do such things. Not too mention I’m not exactly the sentimental type. You won’t see me in that many photographs, not that I keep them anyway. I have lost contacts from my former friends, and even forgot their names already. Again, sentimentality is not my strong point. For me, a memory is a moment of now. Fleeting. When it’s done, it’s done no matter how much I want to relive it or take it back.
That must make me a horrible person (and friend).
This little experiment/trial/whatever, spurred out of nowhere (again like everything else I do). I hope this time, my being a ningas kugon won’t manifest itself.
I probably won’t be able to update daily. School is hell and well, electricity’s not that cheap. Not too mention nosy and nagging aunts are not at all pleasant. I will try, though, to update regularly – probably at least twice a week.
My journal will consist mostly of thoughts and ponderings. I’m not the type to just write a story about my life just for the heck of it. Unless I’m completely blacked out, in which case you would know when certain updates were made lazily. Then again, my life is pretty boring. Monotonous. Dull. My mind though is a freaking war zone moving constantly at the speed of light. Maybe even faster.
I will probably include experiences, but not that much. This is not exactly an autobiography. Hence the word “ramble” (n. to speak and write at length aimlessly and/or with many digressions). It would be more on feelings-at-the-moment, mind-buggers, debatable issues, likes and dislikes, critic, comments and just plain yada-ing.
So I guess this is the first entry. I’m proud of myself at the moment and I truly, devastatingly hope this is a start of a productive and continuous journal.
~Sometimes the mind has thoughts that cannot be understood unless written.~
