Still Alive…

…just for the record. I’ve been gone from this site for quite a long while, and to be honest, I don’t know why. No excuse about being busy. There were some instances when I would have had the time to write.

To be honest, I’ve mostly been thinking. The end of the month I’ll go back to campus for another two semesters of classes, which I enjoy, but this was supposed to be a break and it has turned into me just feeling numb. 

I wish I could just focus on things that are going right in my life, but I can’t. I quit going to my psychiatrist several months ago, and I got the letter fairly recently warning me to schedule an appointment or be discharged. Followed by the letter officially stating that I have been discharged from psychiatric care at this place. I had just held that letter and stared at it, and thought about how I had been doing well for a while after leaving. Then I thought about how I refuse to go back to medication because I never want to deal with side effects again. 

I had thought studying psychology would be good for me. I thought maybe it would help me understand myself, and maybe people in general. 

I’m beginning to think nothing can help me. A lot has to do with my understanding of the world. The world is a terrible place because of humans and humans are terrible because of human nature. There is no refuge in religion because I see through most established religions. Why would I believe there is a god when all I see in news is foreign genocides and political assassinations and six years old rape victims? Or, if there is a god, why would I want to worship something that could end misery but allows genocides and assassinations and the rape of six-year-olds?

Then I wonder if I am facing the true shape of things or if I am disillusioned. To be honest, I want so badly to be wrong. But I can’t make myself believe that it’s true. 

The state of the world so deeply bothers me, and yet I feel there’s nothing I can do. No one can clean all the world’s filth, and if someone did, it would just re-accumulate–because that’s how people are. 

I’ve heard often the counter-argument, of course, that if you can make a difference to even one person, that’s a huge deal in that person’s life and that’s one less person suffering. I just can’t see it that way. No, I do not just turn my head, I do try to help. But in my head, it makes no difference. Yes, I helped the homeless woman on the corner. But who is there to help the man being dismembered or the child soldier or the bullied student or the woman being brutally raped in some guy’s basement?

There is no one to help them, and they will suffer. 

And there is no end and no cure because we would be our own shot at salvation but we are too busy being the devil to care. 

I just find it difficult to deal with and I tend to think maybe, maybe it is a trend going downward and maybe someday our world will become too heavy from the weight of its crimes and it will all fall down and collapse in on itself, and maybe that is the outcome humanity deserves. 

All of this is condensed in this frustrating nebula that lives in the back of my head and taints nearly everything I think and do with meaninglessness. 

I apologize for my first recent entry being so rant-like and dark, it’s just that this is what I’ve been thinking about.

I just don’t know.

Unfamiliar Territory

So things really haven’t changed much since my last post–which is great. Really. It is. But why do I feel so… I don’t know, weird?

I haven’t had any delusional incidents with knives, or any crickets conspiring against me, or imaginary voices keeping me awake at night (which managed to be as annoying as it was disturbing), or the urge for suicide. 

I’m setting aside time for my friends, I’m enjoying my classes, I’m finding the time for things I enjoy doing. 

So… why the hell do I feel like I don’t know what to do with myself?

Don’t get me wrong–I’m definitely not complaining. I wouldn’t want to backtrack for all the money in the world (and as a typically poor college student, I think that’s saying something). 

It’s more like… when you’ve been in a room with loud music playing and suddenly the music stops, but it still echoes in your mind and you still find yourself shouting to be heard, even though the room is quiet now. 

Unclear? Here’s a better example, then. 

It’s like when you’ve spent most of your life, if not the whole thing, living in literal darkness. Underground, maybe. Or in the shadows. It doesn’t matter. But then suddenly you discover the light–and your eyes have to take a while to adjust, but once they do, the daytime world is worth seeing. 

My mental eyes are adjusting, I think. 

I guess a person doesn’t go from severe, psychotic depression to “normality” overnight. There’s a transition involved. 

It’s a transition I’m willing to make. 

I may have wandered into unfamiliar territory here, but… I plan on staying. 

“Where Are You From?”

That’s often the first question people ask, isn’t it? Especially when they find out that I have just moved into the area. I heard it several times, last night, when I was meeting new people. For me, it’s such an awkward question. I mean, sure, I could just answer that I’m from the last state I lived in, but that’s simply the last place I lived. That’s not where I’m from.

To me, to be from somewhere is to have grown up there, to know all the best places to get Chinese food and the cleanest movie theater. It’s knowing that you had a home there, a safe, comfortable place. It’s knowing that the backyard of your parent’s house there will forever be haunted by memories of your childhood.

Well, after a few months of living in a place, I can usually tell you where to find the best Chinese food and the theater with the least-stickiest floors.

But that other stuff, I’ve never had.

I was born in California. I’ve lived in Washington state, other parts of California, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, several parts of South Carolina, Virginia, and places near the coast of Alabama. The longest I’ve ever stayed in a place was three years, and that was an unusually long time for me. When I get my degree from Pitt, I’ll have lived here four years, breaking my record.

But the point is, I’ve moved a hell of a lot of times. As a result, I sometimes feel like a tree without roots. I don’t have that deep network of connections, of childhood friends and shared memories that most people do. In small communities, which are my least favorite places to be, I find it even harder to fit in and find people similar to me, not just because there are less people, but because most of them have lived there their entire lives, and so, yes, I’ll say it, their thinking is often small-minded. It’s a curse and a blessing to have moved so much, because I consider myself very good at seeing things from all sides of the argument. There are no small-town mentalities binding my opinions. And I think that’s great, but it can isolate me from everyone else when no one around thinks like I do.

But to the point: where am I from?

Well, I’m from the United States, which is a small part of planet Earth and the human race.

And that’s about as specific as I can get.