saccharine, part 4: fugue state

(part 3)

Survival is so hardwired into the earliest synapses of life that it is very normal, even healthy, to find suicide disturbing. The problem with disturbing things is that, by their very nature, we prefer not to examine them. This gives disturbing things an extraordinary power to persist in the shadows, surviving through generations, affecting vast swathes of the population in silence.

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Most of the people who knew me when I was depressed did not detect a major difference in external behavior. This was partially due to the massive amount of time and planning I took to minimize depressed behavior while in public, but it is also due to the uncomfortable truth that the psychological distance between a healthy and a depressed mind is much shorter than most realize or admit.

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The most insidious aspect of depression is this:

depression feels more like a solution than a problem.

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If you break your legs, you are unlikely to see broken-leg-you as your “true” self, and will likely do everything in your power to expedite your recovery.

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When you break your mind, their is an overwhelming sense that you are “seeing the truth.” That it is reality, not you, that is fundamentally broken, and those who seem happy exist only in some pathetic delusion.

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There is also a cultural tendency to mythologize the depressed, with no end of historical artists and geniuses to reinforce this idea.

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If I had to hypothesis why this correlation exists between depression and artistry, it would be similar to the blind-improved hearing hypothesis. That is, a blind person will often have improved hearing, not because the lose of vision improves the ability to hear, but because the person will naturally focus and be more in tune with the sense they can rely on. So then, when the cognitive, social, and emotional management section of this mind is impaired, the artistic and instinctual sections are forced to take a front seat.

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The problem with viewing depression as something artistic, or normal, or honest, is that many people will allow themselves to remain depressed, keeping it a part of them like some sort of character trait.

At least, that’s what I did.

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(finale next Tuesday)

saccharine, part 2: coffee break

(part 1)

I went to buy coffee today. The employee took my order and asked my name. When I give people my first name, I usually have to repeat it, so I gave him my last name, which is more common.

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int

Sometime in High School, I became obsessed with the concept of authenticity.

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At that point in life, identity feels essential, but your life experience is too limited to create something unique, so every choice is both deeply personal yet inescapably shallow.
Honestly, at that age, trying on different personalities is a natural and probably healthy development. Still, I developed a distinct mistrust for any person whom I felt was leaning too heavily into a prepackaged identity.

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I thought college might offer some respite from socially-mandated roles. That was what the movies promised – a place where the social facades of high school faded away. A place where people were just people, not a collection of labels.

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Perhaps I was naive.
I had always considered myself a liberal, but I simply could not relate to the identity politics which dominated the cultural narrative in liberal higher education at that time. It seemed every legitimate philosophical point had to be wrapped in a toxic, exclusionary tribalism. No idea could be trusted to stand on merit. Any challenge, no matter how minor, was treated as sacrilege to be burned and censored and excised from reality.

hi5s

A clear social hierarchy began to emerge. I had genuinely believed that, within the realms of college, ideas would be valued over race, class, or gender. And to be fair, in the classrooms, they usually were. But outside the classroom, a clear social shift was occurring. The more oppressed you felt by society, the more legitimate your opinion was. You need not make the clearest argument, you only had to be offended. The more offended you were, the more seriously your opinion was taken. So of course you were now incentivized to be offended, to draw fourth and nurture as much vitriol and disgust for your ideological opponents as possible. People wanted to fight racists and bigots like in the history books, but such blatant villainy was hard to find in the modern era.

So the definitions loosened.

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This may reinforce the theory of my nativity, but up until college I genuinely believed there was an intellectual consensus that skin color and gender were the least important characteristics in determining a person’s worth, and any contrary notions were historical remnants lodged in the minds of the misinformed and uneducated.

oldlady

It played to me like a comic farce: large groups of people my own age, smart enough to receive a college education, demanding segregation, characterizing individuals solely based on race, and the rigid censorship of any conflicting information, regardless of factuality.

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fallin

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(part 3)

 

Dealing with Emotions Again

For maybe two years, I was in a state of depression. Within that span there were moments of darkness and clarity, but the overall state was always present.

bad day good day

I think it is difficult to deal with people in this state because a depressed person is often indistinguishable from an uncaring person.

1

I often assumed a blank persona, not because I didn’t care about what the other person thought or felt, but because I was unable to access the proper emotion.

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When faced with this situation, I often felt obligated to mimic logically the societaly-accepted emotional response.

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The performance worked if the other person was too narcissistic to notice other’s reactions, but if they were hoping to form a genuine connection, even my best acting came across as condescending.

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Social situations turned into situations with only negative consequences, and so I succumbed to the neutral settlement of no interaction at all. It felt logical to forgo society all together, leaving what relationships I had at a distant but undamaged state.

loneliness robot

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I’ve lost some friends, but I’m doing okay.

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~Fin

Freedom Bird

This year I found myself envying birds, for obvious reasons.

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Although technology has allowed the human to fly farther and faster than any dumb bird, they still remain my symbol of stupid freedom.

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Birds are seen as free because their wings allow them to escape from the present the moment their tiny bird heart craves it.

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Unlike the bird I made up, I spent most of last year unable to escape my environment.

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Somehow, midway through the summer, I did escape, and I escaped to Canada.

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Escaping to Canada is a sort of joke in America, something you threaten to do when taxes are raised or a non-white man is elected president.  No one really means it, but, as idiots are prone to do, I took satirical language at face value and moved to               The Great, White North.

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I started school at a new college, moved into a closet, and got a job at a local sandwich shoppe with all the other immigrants.

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I learned more about international relations in six months at that sandwich shoppe than I did in eighteen years of government-funded education.

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I genuinely feel workmanly-affection for a solid 90% of my coworkers, and truly care and admire several of them, but minimum wage work is rarely rewarding, and I spent most of my days wishing I was anywhere but the present.

fall

It was sobering to realize that escaping did nothing to increase my sense of freedom. Realizing my mental state could deteriorate regardless of my environment, I lost the last of my hope, and descended into a very dark place.

enter your head

This state, whose name I feel comfortable saying only now that I have exited it, is depression.

It is a mental state I think is impossible to fully understand when you’re outside of it. Even now, having only spent a week out of this brainspace, I can recall it only in muted memory.

memory

I spent a year trying to exit this state naturally. I read a dozen books promoting meditation, zen, diet, and exercise as cures. All these things had some temporary effect, but as the days melted into one another it soon became very clear that this was something I could not escape through effort alone.

I don’t know why it was so hard for me to accept that.

I swallowed my pride in the form of a pill.

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~fin