Hello, and yes, good morning. It’s the 1st Thursday of December in 2024, and so it is time for another edition of my weekly blog post.
I’m writing this on my miniature laptop* on the way in to the office, because I figured it would be a shame to let the device go to waste. I haven’t used it at all since the last blog post I wrote on it, which would have been…looks like it was November 20, 2024.
Other than the little post I wrote on Monday—which I wrote on my smartphone—I haven’t written anything this week. I haven’t played any music this week, by which I mean neither have I played it on a device for me to hear, nor have I played the guitar or the keyboard, though I guess I’ve tapped drumbeats on walls and desktops and door jambs and the like from time to time.
I am reading a Japanese light novel series, one that I’ve chosen because the characters are at least reasonably likeable, the story is more or less upbeat and decently written and translated, and there are enough volumes out to keep me busy for a week or two.
I haven’t read any science or math or philosophy in quite a while. I certainly haven’t written on any books of my own. I haven’t even watched any science-related videos, to be honest. The only math I’ve done was when I saw a Facebook post of a sign in Taiwan or China that had an infinite series in sigma form written on it. I thought I recognized the series, but I wasn’t at all sure, so I worked out the first seven or so terms and summed them up, and it became clear that this was the series that summed to Pi. It was indicating, apparently, that there were 3.14 kilometers left in what I think was a marathon route.
You wouldn’t see a sign like that in the USA. Though we have some truly brilliant people in mathematics and science and whatnot, they are a rarefied bunch, and the vast majority of the population is borderline mathematically illiterate, and some of them are stupid enough to be proud of that fact.
I did have one slightly interesting occurrence yesterday—from my point of view. I was scrolling through “reels” on Facebook and saw one with a woman sitting in a room and giving a sort of strained, tiny smile, and the caption read something like, “I guess the fact that it’s holiday decorations that are hanging now, and not yourself, makes it a successful year.” That’s not quite right; it was better written, but that was the gist.
I recall thinking, not entirely seriously, “That’s easy for you to say. I don’t consider it a good result that I’m not the one hanging. I even have two ropes already prepared for that possibility, but I don’t have any decorations or ornaments, and I have no one with whom to share the holiday season or anything anyway.”
I intended to write that (more or less) as a comment, which required going to the original post on Instagram; I was going to try to be at least a bit jokey about it, so as not to make the poster think was angry at her. But when I got to the post, I saw that there were people who were complaining about it, saying that jokes about suicide were in bad taste or something, that they had lost relatives or friends or whatever to suicide, and such posts made them feel sad or something. They had a long string of comments.
A few people wrote in response that such “jokes” or posts, even if seemingly morbid, were often a good way for people to deal with the emotions that overwhelm them, and knowing that other people feel that way and can speak about it was helpful.
But the Puritans were all too stuck in scolding mode.
I wanted to write more, but ended up just saying, “Surely no one has been forced to read this posting.” The original poster, apparently, replied to my comment, saying that I was wrong, that she was sorry to have been insensitive to people, and wanted to try to be more careful in the future. I had to bite my figurative tongue to keep from replying, “I was wrong? You mean people were forced to read the post?”
And then I wanted to add something along the following lines:
“As someone who thinks about suicide daily, ever more so over time, and who feels the urge particularly strongly at this time of year, what with the waning sunlight and the holiday environment, it can be kind of nice to know that other people are thinking similarly, and are even able to be somewhat lighthearted about it–even going so far as to give a slight joke, to try to be positive. I think all the people who are scolding and berating should be turning their scorn on themselves, if anything. Maybe if they’d spent less time being so eager to shut other people down when talking about uncomfortable things, they might have encouraged a situation in which their own loved ones might have felt able to talk about their depression and despair. Maybe these commenters are feeling defensive about the fact that, for all that they’re willing to berate strangers for talking about suicide (in a comparatively light hearted way) what they really need to do is berate themselves for not having done anything of significance to try to help their relatives or friends or acquaintances who were in such pain that they ended their lives. Maybe if they tried to encourage a climate in which people felt able to talk about the despair that so many people experience—especially people who are “different”, who are, for instance, “neurodivergent” or who just feel weird and alien compared to everyone else on this waste of a planet—then fewer people would feel utterly alone and at a loss and with no apparent answer to their pain and loneliness other than destroying themselves.”
Of course, I didn’t leave that comment. But it is terribly irritating that people go out of their way to comment negatively about someone who is trying to put out at least a slightly uplifting or relieving thought, but I doubt they went to any trouble at all to support their “loved ones” who were suffering. Fuck all of them, I say, and in all the most inappropriate and uncomfortable orifices. They’re making the world worse, not better, with their “Waah, look at how this all affects me, everyone, I don’t like to be reminded about sad things, because I did nothing to prevent or ameliorate the sadness, so now I want to make sure no one else admits that it exists”.
Well, the maker of that reel apologized, but I don’t think she should have, and I am certainly not doing so, though I restrained myself from hurling my ire at those people in the comments section, and only left my original one. But if I could, I would like to give those people a brief taste of the despair and solitude and emptiness and pain that a person feels when they are severely depressed and suicidal but don’t have anyone they can really talk to about it, no support, since our society still doesn’t deal with mental health issues almost at all.
Even if I could do that, it probably wouldn’t help. Once that temporary pain went away, those people would almost certainly go back to the way they were before.
That’s enough for now. I’ve written too much, and the editing process is daunting. I think I’m only going to give it two go-throughs before posting, instead of three.
I hope most of you—well, all of you—feel better than I do. If I were convincingly told (by some being who could guarantee it) that by my death I could eliminate depression and despair in the world in everyone else, or even that I could just foster an environment in which people could be open about it and help could be provided at least to the same degree we provide it for heart disease and cancer and infectious disease, then that would be a pretty east decision.
But, of course, reality doesn’t work that way, and there’s no reason to think it ever will. That still doesn’t mean that there aren’t other, legitimate, valid reasons for a person like me to feel that he and everyone else would be better off—or at least no worse off—if I were dead already.
“Oh well, whatever. Never mind.”
TTFN
*The miniature laptop is a computer. The top of my own literal lap, though slightly reduced due to my paunch, in certainly not miniature.
**In English, of course—I’m not partaking of my old ambition to practice reading Japanese until I got truly good at it. What’s the point? They would never allow me in the country, anyway, thanks to my “criminal” record***.
***That’s actually kind of funny…what if nations didn’t allow President-elect Trump into their countries because of his felony record? Of course, that’s not going to happen, it would be a diplomatic disaster. Once again, the Donald shows that he can successfully be separated from the enforcement of the law, thus sending what ought to be a message to the American people: Why should you bother obeying any inconvenient laws? The President doesn’t! Screw paying taxes or following through on contracts! It’s every person for itself, in the most short-sighted, opportunistic, petty ways possible.
****Who would ever choose such a thing? Its very nature is learned helplessness, self-hatred, emotional and physical pain that doesn’t seem to let up, that feels eternal when it’s happening. It is a metaphorical and sometimes nearly literal version of Hell.
Robert Elessar 