PERSONAL

0

5,472

Longing for Bonds, Peace, Death

8 years ago3,616 words

I haven't updated this in a while. I've returned to university, and I arrived with hope that things might get better for me... They haven't. I've been trying to write this post for days, but it's been difficult to turn my scattered thoughts into writing. Here's another attempt...

I feel as if I'm hanging by a thread; like my reasons to keep on living are dwindling every day. I feel like the end's coming soon. I'm aware it sounds melodramatic, but it isn't with a sobbing scream that I feel it'll come, but rather with a defeated sigh. It's the realisation that I've lost at this game, so any attempt to keep playing would only be wasting time and resources, delaying the inevitable.

It's depression that's making me think this way. But it's so situational. Depression's apparently treatable with therapy and medication... but I feel those are only relevant when it's something that consumes people despite their life situation rather than as an obvious result of it. I've read a lot about how many people see their life situation as worse than that of others; they see themselves as suffering more than most, regardless of what they do or don't have. They sulk despite social support, despite a job, despite a partner and children and a clear place in the world. They wish to die despite having a life.

I feel I don't have much of a life to lose. Like I'm already the walking dead; a social casualty, an evolutionary dead end doomed to disappear via despair for the good of the species.

I've been reading articles like ∞ this one ∞ which describe the science of loneliness; how social isolation can ravage us not just mentally but on a detectable physical level. A feel-good chemical called oxytocin is generated by the body as a result of physical touch; the more intimate, the more oxytocin. It contributes to feelings of being looked after and cared for, and without that touch, those feelings are absent too. Too much alone time results in the production of cortisol, a stress hormone, and the activation of a brain region associated with physical pain; it quite literally hurts to be cut off from others. Though I didn't need scientific studies to tell me what I already feel every day. We're social animals, and even the most introverted of us can only endure so much deprivation of love.

Of course, loneliness is largely an internal, psychological phenomenon. It's not about the objective, external number of people you may have in your life, but rather about the depth and value of your connection to those people. You could have a hundred acquaintances and feel deeply lonely, or one close confidant and feel much, much better. It's sad how many people seem to lack these confidants. It's why so many people go to counsellors or therapists, or why some men go to strip clubs just to talk to the girls they pay when nobody else will listen.



In the first year of university, people tend to move into what are called the 'halls of residence': shared accommodation where each student has their own bedroom (and in the halls here, an en suite bathroom), with a communal kitchen. You're put in with strangers, of course, but most people make enough friends in the first few weeks or months to have allies to seek private accommodation with in the second year and beyond. That's the common path, the typical milestones. I had a meeting with a 'personal tutor' recently - a professor assigned a handful of students to serve as a contact if they're ever in need - and she asked the six or so of us second years if we'd found houses to live in as if it was an assumed thing. I, of course, was the only one who said no. Her response was one of awkward pity.

The only person I met who I'd have wanted to live with is instead now living with her boyfriend of four years. My dream come true in many ways, that. Living with a partner. A milestone I've still yet to achieve. So I'm in the halls again. I had hope about this; though they'd be strangers, perhaps it'd be a chance to make new connections? That didn't happen last time, of course; I shared with four girls who formed a sort of clique in which I didn't fit, and another guy I didn't click with, so I spent the whole year hiding in my room, alone. This time, I have seven housemates. Just one needed to be my kind of person and I'd have been so happy. Just one.

But no. One's a loud, extroverted guy who's essentially from a different world from me. Or at least that's the brief impression I got; he seems to be rarely here? The other six are all Chinese international third-year students who talk in their native language amongst each other. I have nothing against them, but we're literally from different worlds, so interactions are superficial. Language is a barrier; it's difficult to truly talk with someone when you spend a lot of energy wondering if they understood what you said or trying to decipher what they said. I imagine it's quite alienating being in a different country and culture as an international student... But it's alienating for me here in this little bubble of a shared culture I'm not a part of. I'm glad they have people from their own world to share their living space with; it must be nice for them. But I'll be spending the year in my room again.

Again. Another year of this. There've been so many already. Each one eroding my endurance just a bit more.

The university offers societies based on interests, though I didn't go to any last year for various reasons. I signed up for as many as I could this year in the hope of finding a place to belong. I wasn't very picky; I put my name down for some based on my actual interests like Art, Animation, and Psychology, as well as 'it could be promising' possibilities like Biology, Medicine, or even a society dedicated to appreciating tea.

I've been to a few of their meetings. All were interesting... though mostly as a study of my own mind, in particular its black-and-white approach to connections. I look for those I have instant and clear chemistry with; people who seem like 'my kind of person'. It's very rare that I find them, however; for the majority of my life I knew none, not a single one in school. In a rare fit of luck, I did actually meet one in my first week of my first year here, and she's now my best and most treasured (in many ways only) friend. Those who fail to meet this ludicrously picky and aethereally nebulous array of criteria are deemed by my mind not worth the effort; a drain on resources if anything, a thing to be fled from and neglected. I become quickly overly attached to those I find intriguing, and avoid those I don't. I've been repeatedly told that this is bad and wrong and stupid and the source of my loneliness. I know it is. But changing it feels as doable as deciding to be sexually attracted to men. Merely wanting isn't enough. I can't just flip a switch.

I also used to value online connections, but after spending years in a long-distance relationship and realising the difference between being with someone physically and just exchanging text, I feel I need more than just that. I always appreciate comments, but even then I seem to be bad at replying to them...

Anyway. I went to the first meetings of societies based around writing, art, psychology, and animation in that order.

The writing one was... interesting in that it was full of people who seemed like they'd be quirky outcasts. Not many of us; maybe about a dozen, a female majority. I found it interesting that the guys wrote to impress, focusing on humour and abstract, objective scenarios, while the girls wrote to express, focusing on characters' inner worlds, dreams, desires, worries and the like. There were some skilled writers in the group. And some whose social ineptitude made me feel better about my own. Though they were all certainly interesting individuals in their own way, and I hope they get along well amongst each other, all seemed like the sort of people I'd have to force an interest in, reluctantly; none evoked the magic needed to motivate me to break through the barriers that bind me.

The art society had more 'normal' people, and it and they were, too, interesting in their own ways. But I felt no connection there either. I talked to a number of people, but felt uncomfortable doing so; they seemed less 'broken' than me, more worldly competent, so I felt we were on too-different wavelengths. I also noticed that I was flip-flopping awkwardly between oversharing and being suspiciously elusive; I didn't want strangers to look me up online and see the mess of overly personal stuff I've posted all over the place. My games, my sites, my art, my journals. This thing. When my life was entirely online, I got sort of bothered by people not sharing as much personal stuff as I wished they would. Now that I have at least some presence in the real world, I can better understand why they didn't.

The psychology society was basically just a lecture sort of thing where I sat alone and watched the key members from last year run a kind of election for new key members for this year. Or something. I didn't have the chance to talk to anyone, and I didn't see anyone in the room (there were about thirty of us) that caught my attention. Lots of 'normal'-looking people again, hanging around in established groups.

The animation one was more promising, however. I assumed it was largely for anime, which I don't watch myself, though from overhearing conversations around the cinema-like room, and seeing the things playing on a large screen in front, I felt surprisingly in my element; I'd actually seen most of the things referenced and shown (Disney films, Studio Ghibli, things like Adventure Time and Steven Universe, even cartoons from my own childhood that I'd have expected the others to be too young to even have seen). A number of the people actually did seem like 'my kind of people' from a distant glance; awkward-looking girls and a bizarrely high concentration of guys with long hair. The gender ratio was roughly even though, unlike the others, so I feel I'd have a lot of 'competition'. I prefer to pick off individuals and talk with them one-on-one rather than getting involved in a group, but perhaps that won't be possible if everyone becomes integrated.

One person in particular caught my eye more than the rest, and I thought "I really hope I get to talk to her". So I did. This is never my problem; though I'm not exactly confident, if the opportunity arises to talk to someone I'd like to talk to, I'll take it. It's just that it's rare that such a thing happens at all, either because I so rarely see people who intrigue me in this way (mostly because I never go anywhere) or because an appropriate opportunity to strike up a conversation doesn't present itself. We talked little because most of our time was spent watching the film being played (Howl's Moving Castle, not that it really matters), though I've got to the point of messaging her and find her awkwardness and digital art relatable and intriguing. I know however that there's no reason for the interest to be mutual; though she's been relatively receptive so far, I doubt she's as desperate for friends as me so I'm sure I'll be making all the moves. We're both studying psychology, though we're in different years, so unplanned meetings won't present themselves. Without these, friendships are difficult to develop.

That potential connection gave me hope, but there's a deep undercurrent of embarrassment and I suppose fear; my life story's quite different from the average new university student's, after all, and there are many reasons that someone on a more typical path would have to not exactly respect me or desire my company. The two friends I made in the first year seemed to like me a whole lot, and of course I'd hope for others to feel the same way, but I suppose the doubts will always be there.

Connections are all about what you can provide for the other person. I prefer to provide a compassionate ear and emotional support... but what if someone doesn't want or need to talk or already has confidants to turn to? Providing company in lectures is value too, but of course only if you're going to the same lectures. Few people actively seek connections; rather, they become acquainted with the people in the environment in which they naturally find themselves and bonds blossom from familiarity. Forced connections seem doomed to failure... but these natural, available, and intriguing potential bonds don't exactly present themselves to me readily.

I know I'm overthinking all this. That's what happens when you spend most of your time trapped in your mind, alone. And sadly, the more time I spend like this, the more warped my mind becomes... I want to escape it. Company helps with that. But that's so rarely available to me. Hence the allure of death.

I used to talk with my friend via text every other day, at length, but now that she's living with her partner and is never lonely, that's a thing of the past. Sadly, few people prioritise others' needs above their own. A friend may be starving, but if you're not hungry yourself, chances are you'd be uninterested in sharing a meal with them. You're full; what do you care what they're going through? But then you'd blame yourself forever if the abundant and obvious warning signs eventually culminated in their self-execution. "If only I'd done more!"

It's selfish, of course, to be upset with others for being selfish. "How dare they do what THEY want instead of what *I* want??" So I try to exercise patience and self-sacrifice whenever I can, which is much of the time. Nothing is truly, purely altruistic though; we always want some benefit from our actions, even if it's just the fluffy thought of being nice to another and the bright medal we can pin to our identity for doing so. So I make many sacrifices, hoping for reciprocation... which doesn't come. Which is followed by more understanding and teeth-clenching and endurance and bubbling bitterness bottled up inside.

My strategies for coping with the world and its inhabitants are deeply flawed. The more I learn about psychology, the more I realise that. And the more I realise that changes to one's established scripts are deeply difficult. I feel I don't have the mental energy to rewrite my programming. You can't fill a pool with empty buckets. Or something.



I mentioned in a post ages ago that I went to see a stage show by a man called Derren Brown. I've found him fascinating for years, as his personality isn't a million miles away from my own (though his opportunities have led him to become much more successful than I'll ever be). He recently wrote ∞ a book about happiness ∞, which I've been reading. It's a bit dry in places as it goes on about the history of happiness - long story short, the idea that we're all entitled to it is very much a recent development - but it's also a refreshingly balanced and understanding antidote to the saccharine positivity of the self-help genre as a whole. While they tend to encourage 'positive thinking' and 'goal setting' and the like, if anything he appreciates the value of melancholy and recommends philosophies - primarily Stoicism - which focus on a kind of emotional temperance; essentially realising that life is disappointing but being okay with that within yourself.

From my position of constant suffering, I've read a lot about 'happiness' or wellbeing and the paths to reach it. Some things have transformed me more than others. It's fascinating how the different philosophical, psychological and spiritual schools of thought all seem to converge on several key points, like the same meaningful gifts wrapped in different styles of paper. Or something. For my games (which I've been neglecting for a while; I spent most of my time unable to do anything these days because nothing feels important anymore), I tried to divide the points into three pairs of 'false ideals', which we believe will bring us happiness, and 'true ideals', which are their spiritual opposites that actually do lead to contentment, but which have to be realised and don't really come naturally. In light of what I've learned since their creation, I'd like to return to them for a minute to see if they still seem valid.

One is Longing, the false ideal that happiness was left behind in the past, or awaits us at some distant point in the future. It's what keeps people forever moving and seeking, or pining sadly about what has passed. Its true ideal is Presence, being in the moment, appreciating what we have in the here and now. It's taught by spiritual teachers such as the Buddha and Eckhart Tolle, I've encountered it in my happiness-related (or 'positive psychology') university classes, and Derren Brown describes it via the teachings of the old Stoic masters. It's true, of course; a lot of anxiety or despair can be alleviated by focusing attention on what is now rather than waiting or pining as time passes us by.

Another is Judgement, which is the false ideal that if we fill our lives with 'good' things while avoiding or rejecting the 'bad' ones, we'll be happy. Its corresponding true ideal is Acceptance, which is calmly letting things be as they are without ascribing any kind of value rating to them. An insult loses its edge if you choose not to become emotionally reactive to it, simply letting it be. A hug from a loved one might lose some intensity too if you relinquish the clinging desire for more, but this isn't a bad thing; it just means that you'll be okay with it or without it. This isn't apathy; it isn't about not caring about anything. But it's very much a recurring theme in all that I've read that our happiness largely isn't determined by what happens to us, but rather by how we react to it internally. Different people react to the same stimuli in different ways; one person might be tormented for weeks by what another would instantly shrug off. So it can't be said that some external event is the true 'cause' of our current mood. Each thing may contribute to it, but ultimately we have the choice to control our own inner reactions and decorate our own internal landscape. This seems the most important of the ideals, but the hardest to truly live.

The third is Identity, which is the false ideal that if we're impressive enough, we'll be admired by others or ourselves and will therefore be happy. Its true ideal is Silence, which is the spiritual, Buddhist-like rejection of the 'ego' in favour of a pure self entirely devoid of selfish urges or a desire to impress. You become a mere beard hair of God, an insignificant extension of something greater than yourself, rather than a fragmented microcosm that requires others' reactions for sustenance. You become immune to personal attacks not because you're tough and thick-skinned, but because 'you' ceases to have much value; it's like the difference between someone stabbing your clothes while you're wearing them and when they're simply off to the side while you stand naked. This is more of a spiritual value than one purported or supported by psychology or philosophy; it's the area in which I've noticed many differing views. Some suggest you develop a firm, stalwart ego. Others an agreeable one. Others suggest discarding it completely. The point though is always to transcend the petty insecurities of the sensitive self and embrace something larger, something purer. Again, it's much easier said than done, but the point of these philosophies is that they're something to work at, a map to follow, rather than a destination in and of themselves. It's about living a 'considered life'.

I find all this fascinating, for obvious reasons, but the petty part of my mind mutters miserably that while they're all well and good, they don't apply to my situation because they're like suggestions for changing the rules of a game which I'm not even playing to begin with. Like flight tips for one who's grounded.

But a purer part of me - which has been imprisoned lately, deprived of having much say about the mental weather - realises that there's value to having such a map for life regardless of how involved with life one actually is. It's just challenging to listen to that part of myself at the moment.



Anyway. I know that this was a long, scattered post. I wrote it for myself, and I feel it helped at least a bit. Now to try to get back to doing at least a bit of work...