The Depth of Depression

There are many levels of depression. For a lot of my life, depression had lingered around, tampering with my motivation and making it harder to do things. But that’s all it used to do, make things harder. In the past few days, it has become debilitating. That is a whole different level. It’s a miracle that I can even write this blog in my current state. As of now, I am completely misunderstood and if I were to end my life, people would think that it was a stupid and impulsive thing to do. Stupid? Maybe. Some people think that suicide is always stupid. They’re entitled to their opinions. But impulsive? No. But it’s hard to justify that given I’m only 22 and haven’t lived my life at all yet.

I force myself to treat this blog as my last attempt to get people to understand me. Even as I write this, I realize its futility and perhaps in just a couple of days, I will lose the motivation to continue writing. Every time I re-read one of my sentences, I recognize how stupid it sounds and my motivation drops. I mean, c’mon, getting people to understand me? Who gives a shit? I can’t believe I even wrote that. Why am I lying to myself? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m doing this for money and recognition. Even when I don’t give a shit about life, I’m still so vain as to pursue the impossible dream of making a name for myself.

I envy the depressed people who can’t find a reason to get out of bed. Being riddled with insomnia is another reason why I’m doing this. I can’t even lay in bed like a corpse. I get up, check my email and facebook and find zero messages. Look for someone who I can complain about my shitty life to. Find no one. Go to bed. Can’t sleep. And repeat this hellish cycle again.

When I listened to Marc Maron’s WTF podcast episode 190, the interview with Todd Hanson, it really opened my eyes. I will provide the link again here:

Todd Hanson had been experiencing his depression for 20 or so years before he decided he should just end his life. I’ve only been depressed for 6 years or so and I still have a bit of desire to live. But if I extrapolate the bleakness of life to 20 more years, I can completely understand why Todd decided that it’s better off for him to end his life.

Then Todd talks about how he tried to end his life. I started becoming more interested and used his experience as a simulation for what could happen if I go down the same path. Somehow he survives but he ended up being in the hospital for 30 days. During that time, he was really touched by all the people who visited him. Even when they failed to cheer him up, they kept showing up to be there for him. There was one woman in particular who showed up practically everyday. Then I started thinking about what would’ve happened if I were in the hospital recovering from a failed suicide attempt. I wouldn’t have anyone visiting me. Even if there were people who are there for me during that time, it’s only a temporary thing. Once I get out of the hospital, everything will be back to normal and I’ll be just as alone as I was before. In fact, that happened to Todd too to some degree. I’m amazed that he was able to survive the tough times after that. To know that people will show up and pretend to be there for me, but they can’t spare time for me when I need them most on lonely nights, that would kill me. Actually, I would be the one killing myself, but that would be the reason for it.

I had these feelings when I first listened to the podcast a few months ago. Before writing this entry, I listened to it again and the feelings are even stronger now. Back to the question of why I’m writing this suicide blog… it’s a very petty reason. I don’t want people to look down on me when I end my life. I want them to know it’s their fault. Fuck everyone who wasn’t there for me when I was alive. I’m not saying I deserve help just cause I’m crying for help like a baby with this blog. But if you read this and do nothing about it, when I die, don’t go spewing nonsense saying you don’t understand why I would do something like this. You never gave a shit when I was alive, so don’t pretend to give a shit after I die.

Why Am I Depressed?

I won’t pretend like I understand why I’m depressed. I have some theories but they will also be disproved within this entry. One thing I do know is that I hate the flaws of being human. Everything, like my genetic inferiority, mood swings, over stimulation, you name it, I hate it. Emotionally healthy people would be able to embrace these flaws but I can’t stand them. Why must I be depressed? On a logical level, I know that I’m not in a terrible situation and even if I do feel sad, I should get over it. But I can’t get over it. I tell myself to steel my heart and not feel these emotions, but that doesn’t work. I then try the opposite and hope to cry it out, but I can’t shed a fuckin’ tear for myself either.

What is my current situation? I’m 22. I live with my parents. I pay no rent. I do no chores. I have no responsibilities. I neither work nor go to school. I can basically just sit on my ass and watch TV all day. On paper, it sounds fuckin’ awesome but I am absolutely miserable. I have no real aspirations, no goals, no reason for living. I have never had a romantic life, and my social life is pretty barren as well. Actually, one of my friends is coming over right now to play some ping pong. But so what? We hit a few balls, we get amused like chimps and move on with our lives. I may still have a few social interactions here and there, but there’s no connection. Sure, I’m a bit less depressed while I’m cracking jokes with my friends but once they go home, it just leaves me feeling even lonelier afterwards. The instant gratification of living in a developed society has given me an insatiable need to be entertained.

A big part of why I feel depressed right now is because I don’t talk to other humans on a regularly basis. Sure, I live with my parents but I barely say a word to them. In fact, I just grunt most of the time. I have gone days and weeks without saying a word to another human being. If I disappeared, no one would know, and no one would care.

Actually that’s not quite true. My parents would definitely notice if I’m gone. But there’s no love lost there. At the risk of sounding like a stupid teenager, they don’t know me at all. They don’t know anything about my personal projects, what I studied in school, my strengths, my weaknesses, heck they don’t even speak English. Sure they will be sad at first, but only because of the idea of losing a son, not me specifically. They’ll get a bad reputation for being bad parents, so if anything, they might despise me for dying on them. Reputation aside, they should actually be glad that it’s load off their hands since they’ll no longer have to do my laundry or cook for me.

It would seem that if I can somehow find a friend who can commit enough time to me, then my depression problem can be solved. But such a friend does not exist for me. In the previous entry, I mentioned that some people use suicide threats as a cry for help and I said that that was shallow and stupid and they deserve to die. I recognize that this blog is a cry for help and I’m not going to be hypocritical. If I do end up killing myself, I would indeed be one of the shallow and stupid people I hate and I deserve to die. Right now, I’m just shallow, I’m not stupid yet.

At this point, I would almost like to conclude that feelings of depression are strongly tied into a person’s social life. However, my messed up father is the perfect example to disprove that. He has no friends. None. The other day, one of his old friends called to wish him Merry Christmas and he literally got pissed at my mom for bothering him by handing him the phone. He’s a bit of a workaholic and doesn’t appear to have any hobbies. Well, if verbal abuse can be considered a hobby, then that would be his hobby. Several times a day, he’ll yell at my mom for being the dumbass that she is, and he even yells at me on occasion too. But he doesn’t yell at me for long because I don’t respond to him at all and one would get bored very quickly yelling at a rock. How long can a person yell at a rock for? Maybe a minute?

Next I want to discuss my realization of the depth of my depression. Marc Maron’s WTF podcast episode 190, interview with Todd Hanson, helped me a lot in my realization of my own depression. That was an amazing story to listen to. Very sad, very touching. Anyone who gets any joy out of reading sad depression related stories would enjoy it very much. There’s a lot to talk about it so I will give it an entry of its own. Here’s a link:

Depression: Fuel For Starting A Blog?

I am only 22 years old, but right now I’m suffering my worst depression yet. I’m not exactly suicidal at this moment, but I simply don’t have any reason to go on living. If I were suicidal, I’d just go to the kitchen, grab the biggest knife, and stab myself right now instead of writing this blog. But that would hurt. A lot. I’m already feeling a lot of emotional pain, why add physical pain on top of that? And chances are, I would probably fail at ending my own life so it would just end up being a stupid act of desperation.

            Boohoo, woe is me. A lot of people can’t give less of a shit about my little sob story, even if they were eternally constipated. If I stumble across some dickwad writing a similar blog right now, I would just laugh at his miserable life. It’s not exactly sympathy I’m after….

What am I after…? That is such a good question that I stopped typing for five minutes just now trying to think of an answer. There are all these fictional and non-fictional stories of suicide, where the loved ones can’t understand why the person couldn’t just talk to someone about it instead of ending his own life. Even in death, that person is still taking shit from the rest of this bullshit world.

There are two reasons for killing oneself. Some people just want attention and there’s no quicker way to get the attention of loved ones than to threaten to kill oneself. Sometimes their cry for help go unanswered and they turn from pretending to want to kill themselves, to actually wanting to kill themselves because no one cared. Those people deserved to die. If they’re so stupid and shallow, it’s a good thing the world didn’t stop for them because it would’ve just been a waste of everyone’s time. Then there are people who are seriously living shitty situations. Maybe they’re in a ton of debt that can never be paid off. Maybe they’re oppressed by assholes in their lives. For those who are in shitty situations, I’m glad that they were able to find a way to escape that shitty life through suicide. We shouldn’t feel sorry for them. We should feel happy that they were brave enough to escape the world of pain and shit. I know I’m not brave enough to take my own life at this point and I’m just typing away on a keyboard like a pussy instead.

To answer the question, I want this blog to serve as a motherfuckin’ long ass suicide note. Anyone who doesn’t read this blog in its entirety has no right to judge me on my views of life and death. If my last drop of life manifests as readable text and it’s not even worth your time to read, then you have proved my very point that my life is worthless. Also, this blog is a desperate attempt to make some money. Yes, even when I don’t care about my life anymore, I’m still materialistic enough to wish for a chance to make some money…