shards of End Of Year debris (2)

A bit of time-traveling was necessary to post this blog, as it just didn’t fit with the rest of the politicised blogs of 29/12/2010, and it fitted better amongst the more self-pitying blogs around 29/12/2009. So, I have sent this blog back one year, for the sake of the continuity of the blog and also because I am ashamed to still be the wreck that I am from time to time; there seems to be an expectation to grow out of discontent, leave it in youth as we begin our professional lives – I have achieved neither. So, lets pretend that this is 2009 and not 2010.

Contrary to the common assumption that depression is a distortion of reality – a stupor in a room of illusions – depression, to me, is a crystal clear understanding of the predicament of the world and ones own placing within that world (especially now, at this very moment – 14:30, 29th December 2010). This is why it is so immensely frustrating that in these desperate moments the motivation to write about this crystal clear connection with what you really think and feel is ultimately lacking, and only returns at the moment when there is an hint of an exit from the severely down state of mind. The motivation is lacking in these spells because futility stretches like an eternity, and everything that’s been and gone (despite the happiness level one was at at the time of the events) is testament to this. One feels like the world is crushing them from all sides, and anything written/said will be scoffed at/attacked to the point where it really isn’t worth the energy used dispensing it.
Only when I have perked up ever-so-slightly can I begin to contemplate resuming my futile gulag against the ruling ideology, and the only reason that I can do so is because any state of mind above official depression is a deluded state for me – keeping me going until the next drop into the clarity of depression, from where I see the truth of what I am: a stick mark scratch in the indifferent landscape of the ruling ideology (and that stick mark scratch quickly heals and fills with auto-suggestions to ‘be more positive’, to ‘picture where I want to be in 10 years time’ – from which I can never describe my true apocalyptic predictions).
My life just doesn’t fit into the ruling ideology’s mantra and I have to hope that this may be the truth with all those in the modern world who suffer from depression. It shouldn’t be a ‘silent’ issue from which we are expected to quietly suffer, helped along by ‘magic tablets’ sold to us by the huge pharmaceutical companies; there needs to be a fight to prove that it is this system, which erodes all ability to perceive a better future and twists, distorts and re-brands all hopes, which is destroying the lives of all those who do not simply just refuse to, but actually cannot live in a world like this.
The environmental threats loom. Everyone senses this presence. Many know full well that proceeding in the ‘business as usual’ manner will possibly have wiped most of the human race off the planet by the end of the century. How the hell are we expected to function properly with this common knowledge? Surely it isn’t far-fetched to believe that there is probably a link between the hedonistic-binge-drink-your-head-off-till-the-world-seems-irrelevant- culture, the alarming increase of cases of obsessive compulsive disorders, and the knowledge of a future hurtling out of control, into probable disaster?
My creative output is the only defiance against this world which is both controlling and hurtling out of control at the same time, and it is only defiance, it is never ammunition with which to retaliate with. It is the only thing I can make relatively long-term plans towards (some exhibition ideas/pieces of work may take more than 6 months) anything else I just cannot comprehend without feeling immensely worthless in comparison with those who seem capable of planning long-term within this ‘framework’.
But I do wish this weren’t so. I wish I could claim to be building a family/have responsibility, I wish I could feel like a ‘proper’ man at the age of 26/27, but this simply isn’t the case and my creative output is the only thing which makes me feel enough self-worth to be able to stand up straight and not cower in dark corners like a Morlock. You see, I’d love to live in this world if it 1: actually had substance to the promises it makes to us from the day we were born, and 2: if it could last and be sustainable instead of doing the opposite; eating us out of a home, destroying everything.
Inescapable concern becomes a ceaseless shift between ranting and paranoia-leading-to-massive-comedown, and as the area in my mind penning-in my hopes and dreams gets crushed into a smaller and smaller place (which, in visual, would look quite similar to Israel’s crushing of Palestine) the intensity of this becomes greater and greater, until I have no bafflement as to why fewer and fewer people call me up, or go out of their way to talk to me in bars/pubs. I cannot help becoming a less socially-compatible individual and feeling more isolated – which is great for the ruling ideology; it loves the discontent isolated individual, who spends, spends, spends, to cover up his emptiness.
Apart from the ability to invest in artistic endeavours, life is just played out in whims of irrational pursuits and apathetic surrendering. For example, I just lapsed into a pursuit to buy Pink Floyd’s The Wall (my old copy fell to bits). I couldn’t find it in Barnsley so I thought “hey, I’ll jump on this train to Wakefield – see if any shops there have it”. But I quickly fell into an apathetic mindset; “why? what’s the point? why are you filling your days with such pointless things?” So, I simply sat down in the station, as I do so often when I can’t put one foot in front of the other, and began writing this particular part of this blog (all-be-it in purple felt-tip in my sketchbook). The whim was mainly inspired by a chance that some further diversion may be found on this endeavour; such as bumping into someone who I’d like to bump into, to find some purpose, such as love, hope, life, or merely a way of making another day pass quicker.
Of course it is futile, which is why when I’m not wedged into my artistic production routine I spend most days trying to find diversions only to finally surrender to another ‘failed day’ at some point in the afternoon. The only real option is to take one step at a time, back into the pointlessness that is destined to land you back in depression at some point in the future. An alternative to this? I really cannot perceive one. At the worst points, when ones mind feels like it is being crushed from all angles, ending ones life does appear to be one of the only open doorways. However, as much as it may appear to be the ultimate statement, the affect of it on others’ life’s, as well as being terrible, would completely defeat the point of anything one may have wished for/believed to be right. Non-existence in a world which may become unbearable to watch may also make ending ones life appealing, but it is simply not the right answer (although the idea of it being ‘a selfish thing to do’ is widely missing the mark); It most certainly sets a bad example for someone who still, somehow, believes that the humans race needs to remain in existence on this planet, and still hopes it can sustain a future worth living for.

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