Ok, time for another brain dump.
Lately the feelings of anxiety and depression that I grew up with have slowly started making their way back into my life, like allergies I thought I had outgrown or old friends I was sure I’d shared my last cup of tea with. I was quite a strange case, a child sporting a pretty impressive beard and enough psychotic symptoms to earn him a spot in a psychiatric ward by middle school. I had learned to suppress them, however, in my junior year of high school. That is where I had just decided it was best for my brain to revert back to its primordial roots, you know? Forget philosophy, discard the search for a higher calling or understanding as to why you inhabit this ever spinning rock. Simply chase the few basic and primal pleasures you were designed to chase, monkey boy. That’s right, you were designed. You are nothing but a blueprint, a well thought out damp science experiment, you have no greater purpose other than to serve yours, there is no divine reason, all of mankinds progress, it’s conflicts, the sex, the pain, it means nothing, for we were built to exist within the confines of our ability, and not to branch out beyond that. So I did that, I stripped away and introspection in life and only focused on a few things mainly Sex, Drugs. Health, and Money. And what do you know, my life seemed to skyrocket in terms of quality. I had a girlfriend, I was having regular sex, my average was the highest it ever was and probably ever will be, I maintained two part time jobs and went to parties fairly often. My skin was clearer, I felt better, and it just felt like I had found the cure all end all for any depression, was just to remove my inquisitive nature. Stop asking questions and simply do, focus on the next task, conquer it, and move on, and soon all the pieces will fall into place.
As I became more and more diverged into stoner culture, however, the previous self I had subdued earlier would resurface. I wasn’t happy anymore. I couldn’t form arguments in my head nearly as clearly anymore, I didnt produce art or write music or poems, because I was busy living out my life. And when I would actually sit down to squeeze something out, there was nothing. I had become too fucking happy to create art. What a fucking paradox, right? I must be the most ungrateful little shit on this planet, to go from being bound to a hospital bed, to literally having my life turned around, and hating it? Hating that I had become something I didn’t even recognize anymore? Hating that every woman I was with I had just wanted to destroy, to overpower, that I could no longer feel love or emotionally attach myself to anyone? Hating that I had become to look so much like my fucking father?
I decided to re enter introspection. I started smoking tons more weed, listening to more podcasts of life, reading Alan Watts books, getting into new ageism, all that Jazz. And for a while, the old me returned. I was starting to get ideals again, to feel emotions, to struggle with social interactions and feel good about it again, but then, the vicious cycle hit it’s sinister zenith point: the philosophy I had settled in started to turn against me.
I thought that every living thing was a manifestation of God wanting a new experience. That there would be no point in being angry over anything in life, because we were all doing it together. Deep down our brains were all part of the same collective consciousness and to walk around sad or agitated would be akin to throwing a fit over losing a board game with ones self. I thought this way of thought would bring me contentment. I was wrong. Again, I had started to ask more questions, why would we want to experience the things we experienced? Why should certain parts of the consciousness experience a ride of leisure and love while others were subject to rape and slavery? Who would put on a puppet show where one of their hands was subject to wearing a sock filled with barbed wire? Surely this isn’t all just a theatrical performance, that it just be a cycle that plans on and on like a broken record dug up by a homeless vagabond spinning a song recorded by a platinum selling artist, and they both shared the same spirit? Poppycock! This paves the way for nihilism, it could drive a man insane!
And so it was, I went insane. I had started to feel like a depersonalized ghost. Like there lay a layer of glass between my eyes and the rest of the world. I was lost, a spirit in a cage of questions tied to chains of fear. But, slowly, like a rat gazing through a hole, I thought. I didn’t look to any podcast for help, I didn’t read a hippie cult leader’s manifesto. I had decided to sit down and figure out for myself, what the fuck this trip is all about. And then, I had found it. The universe and I are one in the same in a very special way:
We’re an accident. That’s all. Earth, all of it’s people, the fact that we have skyscrapers, photon cannons, smart phones, casual sex, it’s all a matter of luck. Water in a puddle isn’t the shape it is because the puddle was perfectly crafted for the water, rather the water happened to fill up an already existing hole in the ground. For whatever reason, this particular planet happened to develop this particular ecosystem that would support this particular type of sentient beings. It is all a giant coincidence. That’s all life is folks! We’re the result of a coinky dink! Everything, rockets, assorted cashews, the longing for oral pleasure, is all the derivative of the great coincidence! And here we are, 50,000 years later, a race of human peoples, still rolling with the coincidence! We work for no higher power other than the commanding psychological forces in our heads, we’re childrens of a great mistake and we embody it by being fucking great. THAT, to me, is much more spectacular than the idea that we’re just one sentient being in multiple forms, or that we’re under the whim of a giant puppeteer. Rather, we simply exist because of luck. Had something not gone a certain way billions of years ago, had a certain atom not taken a certain path in a collision course, none of this would exist! Isn’t that fantastic? That the universe is built on the shoulders of one lucky moment?
And that my friends, is how I came to cope with my depression, by realizing that we are literally, lucky to be alive. Thanks for sticking with me.