Chronicle of Depression, Part 3: Generational Schism

One of the failings of my generation, and at least 3 generations past, is that we are taught that the world is a certain way. We can get out there and actually start experiencing life, after about 10 years or so, we start to realize that the world is nothing like we were taught. 

In fact, when were are being taught about the world, it is taught from the perspective of the previous generation.  I suppose there is no real fault in this, because what else does each generation have to pull from? The world has changes so much in just the past 50 years, that almost nothing remains constant from one decade to another. The learning curve is broken. 

The truth is, the world is what we make it. We go out there with a foundation, some more stable than others. The smart ones roll with it, the weak ones are overcome by it, but the dumb ones just hum a tune and keep walking without looking. 

The "old guard" will do a lot of finger pointing and repeating the mantra of "I told you so." As counter productive as that is, it is their right. They lived, loved, lost.

I could go on and on how we are the "generation of entitlement", how we expect everything to be handed to us while being coddled. It's true, but how did we get that way? My generation grew up in the richest economy in the world, at least here in America. We reward ruthlessness and greed. "Smile as you kill." Respect authority at all costs, blindly follow, OBEY. 

America wasn't built on greed. Some would argue this point. I do, at times. I think a modern parallel to the Revolutionary war era are the people today who challenge the status quo. The people who refused to roll over for another beating. Those who refuse to stand in line. Those who spit in the eye of authority. And yet there are those who defend the injustice. They find any twisted way to justify injustice. Then, like some chemical reaction in slow motion, events reach a boiling point. 

This is what makes us human. This ever-churning internal conflict. It may not be healthy all of the time, but we need it. We need it like a child needs stimulation. Without it, our society would wither and die. We'd forgot how to love, but we would also forget how to hate. We forget how to live. 

For my own self, I think there has been a conflict churning inside me for years...hell, probably since the day I was born. I've been and still am naive. I've been devout and rebellious. I'm been conformist and non-conformist. I've been conservative and liberal. I've been Christ and Antichrist. I've been bloated with soul and soul-less. My heart has bled many times over and it has been cold as stone. 

All the while I've been silent. Held back by this unknown fear that is ever-present and relentless. I made a decision today that I would dig my heels in. I need to start standing my ground. I need to fight back the fear. 

'Black Christmas' at Copro Gallery

Read the full story [here]. 

Well, Tumblr is down so here is a post about ordinary people on disposable objects.

This is how the world ends.

Scientists working to create the first working time machine, develop a method to propel matter at the speed of light. A slight miscalculation causes the entire planet to move at the speed of light for a fraction of a second. The moon, however; is unaffected. The timing of the incident and the distance traveled causes the moon to be caught in Earth's gravity and causes the two celestial bodies to hurtle toward each other at an alarming rate.

In a matter of hours, the moon turns blood red as it makes contact with the atmosphere and fills the whole sky. Unbearable heat affects those facing the brunt of the impact, they die horribly before the impact occurs. The resulting shock wave sends a tsunami of matter hurtling around the globe. The other side of the planet is blown out and the shock wave also meets at this point, reverberating several times across the planet.

The man, who was the test subject of the time travel incident that led to this, is hurtled thousands of years into the future. He finds himself in a world very alien to the one we know today.

A Chronicle of Depression, Part Two: Fear and Loathing

We have a bat in the basement. At least, I think we do. I’m the only one who has seen it. I’m fairly certain that it’s not a hallucination. You see, we’ve had bats in the house before. Even birds and bees (yes really). Confirmed and seen by other members of my family and friends, so my certainty is reality is rooted in other witness accounts.
I made a connection the other day with this bat and my recent barrage of depression. I’m tying to be humorous about it, and we’ll see if this works.
I’ve dealt with bats indoors several times. And each time, I can’t help but remember a certain scene from “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” where Raul Duke is crouched slightly, swatting at those “goddamn animals” with a flyswatter. This is exactly how I dealt with these bats and where the connection starts to take shape.
As mentioned in the previous Chronicle, this latest bout came out of nowhere. This is how the bats make their presence known. The latest bat swooped out of a dark chamber in my basement. It zipped right by my head. Instinctively, I hit the floor and looked for the nearest weapon; a metal ruler. I waited, crouched behind a table waiting for the infernal thing to swoop back into the room. It never did. I waddled, almost on hands and knees, back to the basement stairs, metal ruler clutched tightly in my fist. It never showed up, and  I haven’t seen it since.
This is how I’ve been dealing with my depression. It swoops silently out of the darkness of my mind, scaring the living shit out of me. I crouch, waiting for it to swoop back. Normally, it isn’t seen for weeks or months, but lately, it seems to be circling slightly. Each time I stand upright and confident, it emerges from the dark once again to terrorize me.
I’m not sure why bats scare me so much. It may be the threat of rabies even at the slightest touch, or the fact that they flap around without making a noise. Once again, I come back to what I’m thinking is the source of all of this. Fear. And again, I have to ask, fear of what.
So, this is the ultimate quest on this journey. Fear is the mind-killer. I have to find this fear and destroy it. Beat it with a metal ruler. Beat it bloody and kill it dead.

One thing is for certain: I can’t stop here, this is bat country.

A Chronicle of Depression, Part One

[originally posted to Facebook on 12/11/11]

I’m not sure if it has been obvious, and I know some of my close friends have picked up on it, but I’ve been a little “off” lately. It’s odd, but that’s the best word I can think to describe it. I have not been myself.

I have always been a little reclusive. Well, very much reclusive compared to most people. I’ve always been described as shy, quiet and laid-back. Really, that just scrapes the surface. We are all very complex beings. We create facades that we use in different environments in our day-to-day lives.
I am no different. My work facade is professional, quietly humorous and overall nice guy. At home, I am a goofball, much more humorous (I like to think so anyway), but also affectionate, loving, and so on. I blossom more at home because I can relax my rigid exterior. When I’m around friends, I try to be the cool guy (and typically fail miserably).
I have found that, unintentionally, I have been keeping these facets rigidly separate. Underneath everything, I keep my emotions in check (which is why I have that laid-back aspect). Aside from all of this, those who truly know me, know that I am deeply emotional. The river runs deep, as they say.
Now, to the point. I’m sure if you are reading this, you may not really care where I’m going with this, but please keep in mind one thing. I’m putting this out there for my benefit. Is it a cry for attention? Honestly, yes. In part. The reason I want attention is for several reasons. Sick people don’t get help by keeping silent. I don’t expect sympathy. I don’t want it. This is therapeutic. This is healing.
Over the last few days, I’ve been hit unexpectedly with a wall of depression. As far as the trigger, it’s hard to say. I place blame on no one. I’m not even sure what it was. I have been dealing my depression for almost ten years, without medication and without professional help. I’ve done alright. But this recent episode was like something I have never felt before.
The best way I can think to explain it, well...the only way I can explain it is like the emotional one deals with at the death of a loved one. The problem is, there is no reason for the emotions, just the tidal wave of sadness and fear.
The most terrible thing about all of this, is how I’ve been internally punishing myself. “Men don’t cry. You have reason to feel like this. There are so many other people who have it much worse than you.” It’s a cycle...a spiral that has no end.
After several hours of these internal violent arguments, I realized that I needed help. Flashes of suicidal images, feelings, impulses even. I’ve dealt with this before, but never ever at this magnitude. It’s enough to rip your soul. Guilt, remorse, fear.

Fear. That is the catalyst. But fear of what?

This is different. Not only are the emotions more intense, but I’ve noticed very odd mood swings. Violent mood swings. Uncontrollable rage. Sweeping despair. Beaming giddiness. All of this very exhausting.
So here I am, roughly 3 days after the episode. I’ve crawled from the rubble. Swept it under the rug. Put a smile on. I’m trying to convince myself that I’m alright and that I’ll press on. I have to believe this. But there is still the smoldering cinder of doubt threatening to ignite the inferno.
Luckily, I have the best family any human being could ever hope for. I’ve always know this. So very very very lucky. If not for my family, I would have been dead years ago. Any time that pesky suicide creature rears it’s ugly head, it hits the solid foundation of love and admiration and scurries back into depths.
But that part of it. The suicide. That’s where the fear is. Those thoughts truly scare me. It’s a sign of desperation. Inside of me there is a part that is screaming to be freed. Something that is suffering to the point that a plea for release is screaming from the depths to the point that my ears are ringing. I hear the screams but I don’t know where they are coming from.

It sounds crazy, because it is. Literally.

Naptime