Living with Depression

Today I had a very unpleasant interaction with a family member who decided that they are going to add their name to the list of people who have decided to tell me that my depression is a choice and if I just believe hard enough and think happy thoughts, it will go away.  I call these people idiots.  These are people, typically of an older generation, who have this weird idea about the nature of mental illness, and I now suddenly feel very bad for their child who is currently dealing with the affliction and wondering if they are telling him the same thing.  That is most unfortunate.  Hopefully he can surround himself with better people when dealing with this.

It’s no surprise to me that the family member in question is very, very religious.  The idea that if you just believe hard enough and think happy thoughts and your ailment will magically go away is an article of faith.  A horrible, horrible article of faith by people who either have never had to deal with this, or who have been indoctrinated by a society that really treats those with mental illness so badly.  Most recently saying that only mentally ill people do school shootings or other violent attacks.  Timothy McVeigh was many things, a lot of them bad, but if you watch the interviews with him after the Oklahoma City Bombing, he shows that he had a very clear rationale for what he did.  He believes the government was evil for what they did in Waco, Texas, and he was fighting back against that injustice.  There are plenty of people who have rationalized evil actions with a clear motivation.  Say how wrong it is, and you are right, but it shows that they thought it out and weren’t just some crack-addicted hobo.

Depression is an illness that is so misunderstood in society.  It kills me inside how so many people are so horribly stigmatized by it and treated so badly by their peers because of it.  I live with this every day, and I will be getting into it.  My goal here is to help those who are either suffering, or those who know those afflicted and are either unclear about what this feels like or are among the ill-informed people like the aforementioned family member.

I’ve had depression ever since I smashed my head open when I was 14.  My head met a rock going down a hill on my bike.  The person who found me was very reticent to call the cops, and I think that they might have hit me with their truck, but that’s a conspiracy theory that will never be solved.  I don’t even know where the bike I was one is anymore.  My depression is caused by brain damage.  I’ve had my neurosurgeon and a neuropsychologist do the due diligence and test to see if this is the case, and that’s where all evidence points to.  Because of that, this affliction is something I am going to have to deal with for the rest of my life.

Not all depression is like this, but that’s just my case.  For those who want to go into detail about all the various causes, there are plenty of quality resources to look into that I would recommend looking into.  Here’s a link to one, but there are lots of others and I suggest doing your research.

How can I describe what it’s like to live with depression?  Imagine, for a moment, that your brain is turned against you.  It is actively fighting back against every happy moment or good thought you have ever had.  That’s what it has been like for me.  The family member I spoke of said that I can choose to be happy, and that just pissed me off so much.  They do not understand what it’s like to be having a perfectly fine day and then to just have your brain do the thing where it makes you feel like shit and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.  It can come out of nowhere.  Or I’m having a very good day and then something comes out of nowhere that throws a wrench in it.  Even if it’s something small, there the tumbling down the rabbit hole goes.  Alice in Miserable Wonderland.

I don’t remember what it’s like to feel legitimately good.  Many months back, when I tried edibles for the first time, and it was really high in CBD, feeling the elation and actual happiness in my brain again, it was so joyful.  I cried.  It felt so good, that when the feeling disappeared back into this awful nightmare that is my day-to-day, it hurt me inside.  Alas, I’m too fucking financially conscious to go crazy and load up on the stuff.  That’s the thing about living in poverty.  It’s the same reason that I don’t actively go see a therapist or get on a drug regiment.  I already have to take meds for a condition I have.  Adding more to the mix is money I don’t have.  Not to mention time off work.  I wish there were shrinks around who were open when I get off.  But those visits are also money I don’t have.

When I have someone tell me that I am choosing to be sad, I want to beat them upside their stupid fucking head.  They have no idea how crushing this feeling is.  What it’s like to live with it.  But the aforementioned family member isn’t alone.  I cannot tell you how many friendships I have lost because of this.  I can’t.  How many people who I used to be so close to that now keep me at such a distance because of it.  I suppose I could lie a lot.  Be really peppy and happy and fake being well-adjusted.  I know that most of them would just turn a blind to the problem and enjoy that because as a species we would rather have happy things around than not happy ones.  It’s easier to lie to yourself about a problem than have to deal with it.  Speaking from experience.

My relationships across the board have suffered.  Friendships that dried up when they couldn’t take the negativity anymore.  No matter how loyal I was, that loyalty was NOT returned in kind.  Now matter how much I would go out of my way to help anyone who asked and is a friend, they would treat me like it’s too much to have the way I am around.  Then there are the romantic or sexual connections.  The people in my life who found that even though I was very happy to be around them and be in their lives, my depression snuck in and made my bad days very bad for them.  Once-again, I suppose I could have lied to them, hid it deep under everything and told no one.  Would make me a very popular guy.  But if I didn’t have the release valve, I probably would have killed myself when I was 17.

Which is another thing – thoughts of suicide.  Suicidal ideation is always in the back of my mind.  No matter how good a day it is, there’s always that little thought deep in the recesses of my brain that says that life isn’t worth living anymore and I should end it.  I’ve been fighting this for so long that I sometimes think about that line from Garrus in Mass Effect 3

But how long before the fight’s kicked out of us?

It’s such a struggle.  If I had a social network that was more eager to help, maybe that would make it easier.  Alas, I am born into a generation that will do anything and everything to avoid sad or negative things.  Everyone wants butterflies and rainbows, and the second that they don’t have that, they get very, very angry.

Maybe I should post on depression forums or something.  Find like-minded people.  I think that’s part of the problem.  People who don’t have to deal with this ailment just do NOT understand what it’s like to live with it.  They all just think that you’re not trying hard enough or that if you wanted to be better, you would be.  That societal misconception led to one of my favorite memes that I’ve come across.

People who don’t have this ailment don’t realize what it’s like.  To have your brain constantly fighting against you.  To be your worst enemy.  To hate yourself and think that everyone hates you at ALL TIMES.  To be trapped in your own head creating your own reality that has everyone not caring if you live or die.  No joke, I have that thought a lot.  Thinking that if I died tomorrow, virtually no one would miss me.  On a conscious level, I know that isn’t true.  I have truly amazing parents who have done more for me than they have any reason to, and I wish that I wasn’t drowning in poverty because of a job that I am woefully underpaid for so I could keep my word on paying them back.  As it stands, I doubt I will ever have a life that is financially stable enough to do so.

I know that I have extended family that while I am not close with almost any of them, they would be saddened by my passing.  I know that I have a few very close friends who would be devastated.  There are a couple of people that I have loved or been very close to that even though one of them hates me now for reasons that have something to do with depression, infidelity (not on my part), and the cost of being the rock upon which I stand.  I am sorry she hates me, but I understand the reason.  Even though she hates me, I know that she would still feel sad.  But this disease makes all that go away and those thoughts creep in like a cancer.

Depression sucks the life out of you.  It takes the things you enjoy doing and tells you that they aren’t fun anymore.  It has you desperately wanting to feel good and not being able to.  It’s an iron ball around your ankle dragging you down into an ocean of despair and you have fucking idiots telling you that you can just believe and choose to feel better and that will fix it.  I seriously wanted to scream at this person.  I wanted to tell them that I think they’re stupid and how I wish that I could subject them to how this feels for a week so they could understand what an absolute nightmare this is.

It doesn’t help that my crushing financial poverty has me not being able to actually seek help that I truly do want.  I don’t have the money, or the leave time, or the assistance.  I don’t have any of that, and I wish that I did.  I don’t have a social network that is supportive because I am part of the millennial generation that wants sunshine blown up its ass.  Worst of all, I’m having to fight back the urge to die even though I genuinely don’t feel like I am living for anything.  That is EVERY. SINGLE. Day.

What bugs me the most is that there are people like this family member who have this baffling idea that I want to feel like this.  That I am choosing to be this way and that I somehow want it.  I would give my last 40 years to have this go away.  I’d grab a hacksaw and go all Dr. Gordon on it with my foot if I could make the brain damage go away.  There is no price that I would not pay if it would mean making this horrible affliction leave me alone.  But that’s not how this works.  Not that anyone else would know that.

For those who suffer from this ailment, know that I’m here.  Go onto any of my social media or even leave a comment on here and I’ll talk with you.  Granted, that is opening the floodgates to be fucked with my trolls.  The Internet world we live in. Hopefully this can help some of you know that there are those out there who know what it feels like.  And for those who are stupid enough to actually buy the logic that if you choose to you can be happy, you are woefully ignorant and I am saddened that there are people who may look to you for guidance and you give them that bullshit.

Until next time, a quote,

“Because humans are complicated beasts. You believe comforting lies while knowing full-well the painful truth that make those lies necessary. In the end, Connor, it is not important what you think. It is important what you do.” – The Monster, A Monster Calls

Peace out,

Maverick

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2017 Year in Review

I don’t honestly know what to say about this year.  It’s been probably the most unremarkable year I’ve ever had.  At least for a long time.  Nothing really major happened.  I was kind of just treading water until this next year came up.  Since I’ve taken on the tradition of doing these posts after college, I figure I have to find something interesting to take on with it.  And I think I may have my angle.  But it is going to bore a lot of you to tears.  Why?  Because I am going to be talking about a very adult problem that all people who work in a professional environment have to deal with, and the lessons that I learned from that experience.  As I think about it now, more is coming to me, so let’s get down to it.  Let’s talk about this year.

Right out of the gate I started this year on a very dour note.  Coming back from Christmas, I had a bitter taste in my mouth.  Why?  Because I was stuck having been the source of a family hero worship session on Christmas Eve following me doing something nice for my aunt.  Things kept getting different, because the aunt friended me on Facebook, and as anyone can tell you, who I am online and who I am in person are two very different people.  Only one person has seen the part of me that virtually no one else sees.  It is someone whose relationship I respect and I nearly lost.

Let me set the scene for you.  A few months later, my dear friend and I are out drinking.  It was a rough day and she said that we should go out drinking.  Of course, for me it was just a single drink and some food, while she was downing Long Island ice teas like it was no one’s business.  She got white girl wasted.  What followed was an experience that was over two hours long and I can’t get into specifics about.  See, I made a promise that I would never talk about it again, and I am a man of my word.  Let no one say otherwise.  I’m bringing it up just to set the stage for you.  Suffice it to say, some things happened, some of which I ended up telling her and some things I am keeping all to myself because what people don’t know can’t hurt them.  Especially now that she is married.

Anyway, something to know about me is that I have a bad habit of just running my mouth in casual situations without thinking too much.  The whole night between my friend and I was something of a sour spot, and I said just the wrong thing at just the wrong time.  What’s more, since I can’t help but exacerbate a problem, I decided to try and confront the issue.  What a terrible, terrible move.  She lost it on me and things between us died pretty hard for a while.  Then one afternoon I get a call when I’m at home and she lays out what she thinks our future is as friends.  I nearly watched my friendship with her die because I couldn’t think before I speak in this instance.  It took me damn-near begging for another shot.  There were stipulations.  Ones that I have tried my best to keep to, though I do still catch myself slipping every now and again on some of them.  However, when it comes to the biggest stipulation – that we would NEVER speak of that night again, I have kept to that one religiously.  I’m never going to speak of it again.

Time passes, our friendship is saved and things are okay.  Then she joins the Navy officially and is heading off to boot camp and then A school, followed by C school.  I kept diligent track of things.  While she was gone, I wrote her letters.  As soon as I had her address at basic, I wrote her every week.  When she got to A school, and we were talking again on video chat or via text, I still wrote letters.  It was somewhat soothing.  But when she left, it was the loneliest I have ever been.  Ever.  There hasn’t been a period of time that I felt more cut off than I did when she was gone.

One thing that happened around the same time as my friend and I’s relationship falling apart was that I decided to reach out to a vast plethora of people and write messages to them apologizing for wrong-doings.  It was kind of part of a grander design I have for things in my life and my final act.  But it felt like the right thing to do.  Virtually no one replied.  That’s totally fine.  I get it completely.  Pretty much everyone I wrote to hates me in one way or another.  Still, was at least hoping I’d get a few more responses.  Not to fix things, but at least to bury the hatchet.  I don’t know.

There was one person I reached out to that I think made things worse.  It was someone who I had told something to after a truth about me got out that I figured would get back to her eventually, and I wanted her to hear it directly from me instead of from other people.  But I lied to her about it.  Said it was one thing and it was something else.  I decided that I had to come completely clean.  Figure I made things worse.  There is so much distance between us.  Even now.  Maybe if I had told her everything when I was much younger.  I don’t know.  Wish I did.

However, there was a plot twist.  See, another friend of mine wanted to come up to my state again and asked if she could stay with me.  As luck would have it, at my new apartment (I moved this year.  The new places is 1000X nicer than my last shit-hole apartment) there is a guest bedroom and it just so happens to have a bed in it.  I bought covers and everything for if anyone ever needs it.  I get the feeling she is the one and only person who will ever use it.  As in ever.  A couple of people I can dream of using it, but that’s all it is – a dream.

The first couple weeks that we spent together were legit awesome.  I had so much fun with her.  It was just like old times, and since I am a pretty easy person to live with, we had no problems there.  Hell, I made dinner for us and it was pretty nice.  We went on adventures and I felt like things were so fun.  Made for a pretty nice summer.  Since my Navy girly-mate was gone, this was a good distraction.  As is want to happen, something went wrong.

See, when the girly-mate who was staying with me left, she had been in a relationship that was very long and it hadn’t ended well.  Coming back up here, she found things with that person picking up.  So she ended up staying over at his place a lot.  More and more as time went on.  What’s more, the two of us would make plans, only for them to get totally crushed because she was over at her ex’s, pining for him.  It made me more than a little pissed.  But after a while, I was done with the roommate situation we had going.  It had gone on for months, and since she was never here anyway, I was ready for her to be out.

Eventually she did go back home to the states, and here I am feeling very lonely again.  I was lonely before she left, really.  Because we didn’t have time together.  We had time we were in the same house, and time she was with her ex, and that time was virtually all one-sided against me.  I had no desire for us to be a thing, but I was hoping for us to at least be roomies who could hang out.  There were a few things I was looking forward to, but nope.  It all just died.  I didn’t even get to see her off.  It sucked.

More time alone into the fall, until my Navy girly-mate got back in touch when she got into A school.  Listening to her talk about all the amazing things she was learning to do in school made me more than a little jealous.  I felt like my life was nothing but a giant waste.  Here I am doing absolutely nothing of any real value, while she is learning skills that are beyond impressive.  For those who may ask, I wish I could have gone down the career path she had.  But after my head injury, any of that was out.  Believe it or not but before I busted my skull open, I had thought about it.  Oh well.  One can dream.

Here’s where I get to the adult thing I learned about a professional environment.  See, there was a shakeup of management and the best thing to happen to my department happened – Brent.  He is the single greatest manager I ever had.  He gave feedback and was a genuinely good leader.  He encouraged silly behavior, but still had high standards.  He gave us tools to help unwind.  This man became the best thing to happen to me at work.  I was genuinely feeling good for his time there.  It’s where I learned about office politics in a way I hadn’t before.  I wrapped this guy around my finger so hard.  Got an amazing letter of recommendation out of him.

There was one thing I had said to my girly-mate before she left for school – that if I was still in that office by the time she got home, something had gone horribly wrong.  I don’t honestly know how many interviews I had up til now.  So very many.  Something went horribly wrong.  All that work, and I am still there.  Still getting yelled at on the fucking phone all day by deadbeat parents who can’t deal with their burden.  I hate it.  Makes my Navy girly-mate telling me about all the amazing things she is a part of hurt that much more.  My life is such an abject waste.

Navy friend returns, and it was like she never left in a lot of ways.  But she came back a different person.  I’d like to think I did a little growing up myself, but I know that that isn’t the case.  Since interviewing to get out of the dungeon I am trapped in hasn’t worked, I decided to try and be more clever about it and try and escape by transferring to a different department.  That might have worked, except my luck still is so profoundly bad.

Which brings me to now.  All this time later, and I’m really nowhere.  I’m exactly where I started out at this time last year.  Nothing has really changed, and I feel so disappointed in that.  My life sucks, and there’s no escape.  Everyone is doing cooler things than me.  I feel like a waste of skin that no one would miss if I died tomorrow.  Anyway, off to bed I go, to greet the new year fast asleep.  Whatever.  I don’t get invited to New Year’s parties.  Never have, never will.  That would imply people wants to invite me.  That just isn’t true.

Until next time, a quote,

“Being by myself.  I’m afraid I’ll end up alone.” – Ellie, The Last of Us

Peace out,

Maverick

Helping a Puppy Have a Merry Christmas

I’m about to have an unpopular opinion – I hate people who hurt animals more than I hate people who hurt other people.  It’s true.  When I see stories about people who kill their pets or who hurt pets in some cruel way then my blood boils a thousand times more than when I hear some asshole beats the shit out of someone.  Now I got to see a story that was in my local area of a friend who had their dog thrown off the overpass in my home city.  Here’s a link to the article.  While it doesn’t get far into it, the person who risked her life to get the my friend’s dog, Amos, off the pavement saw two kids who appeared to have thrown the dog off.  This was an overpass at the height of rush hour.  These two children should have been beaten within an inch of their lives.  I guess their parents didn’t teach them right, so somebody should.

Which brings me to where you all can help.  My friend has set up a YouCaring fund to help pay for the surgery needed to get her dog’s leg healed.  I’ve already chipped in what I could afford.  I know people hate to be asked to donate, because you get that everywhere you look these days.  But this is an effort that has real help, for a poor dog who has been the victim of a senseless act of violence by two kids who weren’t raised right by their fucking parents.  Here’s a link to the crowd-funding page.  If you feel like it, even $1 would go a long way.  As a good friend, I am using my online platform to help boost this and see if we can get together and help bring a Merry Christmas to a family and a puppy who could really use it.  I’m not gonna brow-beat you all on this.  It’s your choice.  But if you feel like I do about people hurting animals, then there you go.

Until next time, a quote,

“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others.  And if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them.” – Dalai Lama

Peace out,

Maverick

In Memory of Riley

The things that happen one Sunday afternoon while you are completely unaware.  Just a normal Sunday afternoon where I am doing something really cool, and find out something happened suddenly.  The way life is, most days.  There’s this great video I watch anytime I am having a bad day and while it may not make me feel better, it makes that day suck a little bit less.  In that video there’s a line that says that the real worries in your life is something that will find you on some idle Tuesday.  It also says that your life is 50% chance, just like everybody else’s.  I just got finished putting a peanut butter cheesecake in the oven and decided to call to wish the old man a happy birthday.  That’s when I found out what happened.  The family dog, Riley, had seized.  It was bad.  Now his mind appeared to be gone and he was running around smashing into things.  He wasn’t getting better.  There was nowhere they could take him.  After all his health troubles up to this point, it was clear what had to be done.  Call my old man callous for ending the dog’s pain with a bullet instead of an injection, but it was quick and he didn’t suffer.  That’s more than most can say.

Riley was the offspring of our old dog Zoey, who I did an In Memory post for.  She was given to me after a major surgery.  A pure-bred lab, she was an awesome dog.  But she was not my dog.  Not by a long shot.  Just like her puppy, she was my old man’s dog.  Everywhere he went, she followed.  We bred her with another pure-bred lab and had a whole bunch of puppies.  Riley was unique among them.  The whole lot of them were black as obsidian, except him.  He was white as a sheet.  Little albino dog.  The only one from the litter the family kept, he was the most loyal dog you could imagine.

More than a little of a momma’s boy, everywhere that Zoey went, he went.  Everything that she did, he did.  Make no mistake, for how much bigger he got than her, it was clear that she was the top dog.  It was so fun to watch when he would finally get on her nerves and she would run his big ass down and bowl him over and get on top of him in an act of dominance.  Like the wolves they descended from, she is the alpha dog.  Of that there is no question.  And he was a good kid.

However, like I said, he was most definitively the old man’s dog.  I told this story in the post for Zoey, but I knew who everyone was at the house on the lake by how they walked.  My cave was in the basement, and everyone in the family had their own walk.  Sally (my mother) was always slow and plodding.  She was never in a hurry.  My sister’s walk was angry.  A fitting theme, since anger is her stock and trade.  But the old man always had the clickety-click of doggy feet behind him.  Everywhere that he went, those two were there.  If he was out plowing snow, they were in the plow truck with him.  If he was on the 4-wheeler doing work outside, they were on the back.  It was kinda cute how the two would fight over who got to sit on his lap when he would be watching the news at night.  Never would he have let that be the case when he was younger.  My old man got so much more lenient as his years are getting on.

For example, every day that Sally would leave for work in the summer and he didn’t have to go to work, the two would be up on the bed.  He would bemoan how spoiled the two are, but deep down I knew that he kinda liked having two big pals to do stuff with.  I was never big on the outdoor stuff or the vehicle stuff, so he got to have a couple of happy helpers to be with him.

When Zoey passed, I think it hit Riley hard.  Dogs process death differently than us, and he was a very lonely dog for some time.  But then he came back and life resumed for the big white mutt.  For a couple years he was the only family dog and he was just like Zoey.  Everywhere the old man went, there he was.  If anything, he was much more insisting than his mummy-dog.  He had to absolutely be involved with everything.

Then things took a turn.  He had a health problem which caused one of his eyes to be in a massive amount of pain, all the time.  This was on top of digestion issues and fatty deposits he had.  Pure-bred dogs have a lot more health problems than mutts, and he was no exception.  After surgery to remove the eye that was in pain, he was a happy dog again.  But his health had been declining more and more.  Today, it all came to a head.  As was told to me on the phone, he started having seizures and then subsequently running around and losing it.  He was smashing into things, like he couldn’t tell where he was or what he was doing.  I was told that the old man took him outside to where he wanted to lay him to rest, next to Zoey, and ended it.  Once-again, think him callous, but he did what had to be done to stop his pain.  My family isn’t rich, and his mind was gone. I can’t imagine how much it hurt, but the deed is done.

Riley was a good boy, and while he wasn’t my dog, I am going to miss him.  He was a good boy, and now my parents only have one pet left – my cat.  And her health is declining fast.  She’s completely deaf and I think she is really scared at night.  She yowls like she is in pain, but I don’t think she is.  During the day she is alright.  I think her vision is going too and she’s scared.  Her hair is getting matted and she sleeps virtually non-stop.  I think this will be her last winter too.  I suddenly am feeling very alone out here. But all that is a post for another day.  I’m really tired right now, and I got laundry to do.  Being an adult sucks.

Until next time, a quote,

“A dog is the only thing on Earth that loves you more than he loves himself.” – Josh Billings

Peace out,

Maverick

The Effect “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” Had on Me

When I was a kid, some of my favorite books to read were the Scary Stories series.  The cover designs were captivating.  Some truly amazing artwork.  The fact that the company who produces those books redid the covers because some soccer moms said it’s too scary for their pussy kids pisses me off.  But here’s the thing about those books – despite their scary imagery, one of the things about each of the stories was that it usually wasn’t that scary.  It was just something that wasn’t understood.  And very few of the stories had endings truly as dark as the visuals you had in your mind.  They had happy endings but with the surreal nature being something for the reader to contemplate.  Or to show that sometimes what you fear is just what you don’t understand.

For little kids, that’s actually a really good lesson.  Kids need to know that not everything they’re afraid of is bad.  Sometimes it’s just something they don’t know.  The sense of fear compels kids to know what happens.  They’re short stories where the author has to build suspense quickly, and the best way to do it is with fear of the unknown.

When I got a little older, I got into Stephen King.  But as interesting as some of his books were, I didn’t get into many of them.  It always built to a point when the source of the fear is explained, and that bored me.  That and that guy has a real problem knowing when to end a book.  Too often he just sucks the premise dry to the point that you don’t even care anymore and just want it to be done.  King has admitted several times that he has written himself into a corner more than once.

Then I happened across a little book by an author I had heard of, but never really read – H.P Lovecraft.  The book was called “The Shadow Over Innsmouth.”  It told the story of a narrator who ends up in a small European fishing town, and learns about the secret cult that governs this community.  As he delves further and further into it, he learns a horrifying truth – that the beings that this cult worships are real.  The Deep Ones (or Old Ones, depending) are massive, unknowable, supreme being, ancient in a way that we cannot understand.  The people of this community are trying to cross-breed with them in order to rise to a higher plane of being.  The deeper the narrator gets into this nightmare, the more he is driven to madness because the truth nature of these beings is beyond his comprehension.  It’s beyond anyone’s.  You as a reader are having to realize that you are stuck with this guy, and you can’t tell if his narration is on the level the further it goes.

All of my life, I had questioned religion.  I mean, a story about a wizard in the sky who creates a guy from dirt and then makes a woman from his rib, who gets all pissed because said woman was convinced by a talking snake to eat fruit from a magic tree?  Who wouldn’t be a little bit skeptical of that?  Over 1 billion people in this world, apparently.  Will never get that.  But this book helped solidify what I found the entire concept of a supreme being fucking terrifying.

The Deep Ones are ancient, all-powerful, unknowable, and probably evil, if their motives made sense to us.  But they don’t.  Those who get too close are driven to madness.  Another thing about this is that they see us as less than insignificant.  We mean nothing to them.  That’s because we are nothing to them.  We are ants on this planet, whose petty efforts mean nothing.  As we live and die, they go on.  Generation after generation will perish, but they will remain.  The existence of humanity is just something that happens, and being this ancient, who have seen all the life of this world come and go, is just a small diversion that has no meaning at all.

And in my eyes, that’s what a true God would be.  Why would it care about us?  What would we mean to it?  The Abrahamic faiths wants to believe that this being created us and cares for us.  That makes no sense.  For starters, let’s just get rid of one of the arguments right off the bat.  This universe was not made for us.  We have scientific proof that this universe is billions of years old.  Humanity is just a species that came about after a planet that has existed for billions of years.  All the young-Earth creationists are blithering idiots who have not a single piece of scientific evidence to bolster their claims.  Everything we know about the universe tells us that it is billions of years old.

So why would a supreme being, who has seen countless species that we can’t imagine rise and fall on this lonely speck of dust in this one galaxy, give any amount of a shit about us?  It wouldn’t.  Objectively, there is NO reason why it would.  It’s ridiculous.  If you existed outside of time and space, seeing countless creatures and even countless sentient civilizations come and go, why would you care about this one?  Here’s a fact – it is a mathematic impossibility that this planet is the only one with life.

When I see people who say that they have a hotline to God and that they understand his will, I see two types of people.  The first are shysters like Ray Comfort and Joel Osteen.  They are just as much of an atheist as I am, only concerned about the money.  The second are the lunatics who are using religion to bolster their madness.  Only difference is that their supreme being is nowhere to be seen.  Can you only imagine what kind of madness this world would devolve into if a cult like the one in “Shadow Over Innsmouth” was real and was known to the rest of the world?  It horrifies me.

That books shaped a lot of my beliefs about the world.  Lovecraft had a firm belief that what you couldn’t see or understand was where fear comes from.  When I hear people say they fear God, it strikes me that they choose to believe because they are afraid of displeasing this entity that can destroy them.

As for me, I choose to believe there is nothing.  Because if one day the clouds are ever pulled back and this deity actually reveals itself, that’s when the real nightmare begins.  Just read how that books ends.

Until next time, a quote,

“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is of the unknown.” – H.P. Lovecraft

Peace out,

Maverick

A Lack of Vision With Programmable Matter

Something I haven’t talked much about is the fact that I am a transhumanist.  I believe that humanity is quickly coming to the point where we can get past our biological limitations with technology.  And I am all for that.  There are a whole bunch of reasons why.  So when I see articles about this new concept that is coming up in the world of DARPA research, it gets my mouth watering.  Programmable matter!  The ideas that come to mind are endless.  The article in the link above said that the truth is that the limits of this technology are only where the human imagination can go, after it gets developed further.  A statement like that makes my mouth water.  So then, when I see their list of practical applications, I am kind of shocked at how limited their vision is.

For me, there is one thing that comes to mind – biological engineering applications.  After all, biology is matter, right?  The physical body is just biological materials that are set into a certain patterns based on the DNA of the individual.  Clusters of specialized cells that are arranged just so to accomplish the tasks of living as a human being.  That’s what the human body is.  So, with that in mind, what is stopping the biological from becoming programmable matter?

I realize that what I am talking about is tens, maybe dozens of years ahead of where we are now.  But given the speed at which technology grows, is it really that far-fetched?  Because I can see even further!  The “soul” as people call it is just chemicals and processes of the brain.  Whose to say that this couldn’t be moved from one body to the next?  Just think about it!  A cancer victim who is dying, what if a body could be fabricated via programmable biological matter to move their brain into?  The man who gets crushed by a car could be saved, purely by putting their brain’s chemistry into another mind.  If the limits are just our imaginations, then perhaps my imagination is further along.

We are already learning how to fabricate organs via 3D printing.  I’m talking about taking this technology to the next level.  Fuck the ethical implications!  Sorry.  Maybe I’m getting a little wrapped up in it.  But I think we are letting ourselves be slowed down.  Now is the time for us to go big!  This technology is in its infancy still.  We’re still making basic shapes and other basic forms.  I know there are great things ahead.  We can’t afford to let ourselves be stopped now.

My body is rotting away.  My feet are dead, and one day they are going to rot off.  It’s why I exercise the way I do.  Diabetes runs in the family, and if I ever contracted that, I would be so fucked.  My heart doesn’t work right.  I am going to require major open-heart surgery to solve the problem.  After my head injury I am one back knock on the head away from death.  My neck can’t move.  I can’t feel where I’m walking.  I just keep it going through muscle memory.  It is EXHAUSTING to live the way I do, and I am quite frankly tired of it.  I know something better is out there.  This kind of technology could save me from total degradation.  As my friend Kathryn says, trust and believe, if there was an opportunity for me to become a test subject for the kind of research I am talking about, then I would be there without a second thought.  Fuck the consequences!  I get one chance to live, and I am tired of wasting it in a body that doesn’t work right.

But more than that, just think of the implications!  Creating bodies on the cheap.  Imagine if you could move minds from one body to the next!  It sounds like science fiction, but if everything in the mind really is just chemistry, then whose to say that it couldn’t be done?  We have technology right now to visualize ones thoughts.  It’s kind of Orwellian, but at the same time kind of cool.  I see the possibilities.  To take humanity to the next level.  To make it so that disease and things like that are no longer a death sentence.  We already have a new untreatable strain of gonorrhea that is spreading rapidly.  The reality is that the day is coming when having to get surgery is a death sentence due to untreatable bacteria.  It’s not something that is a ways off and we can worry about it when it happens.  It’s happening now!  Hospitals all over the country are becoming infested with these diseases.  Diseases we made.  That’s right, our over-prescribing of drugs is the reason that these pathogens exist.  Nice work, humanity.  The hypochondriacs who need drugs for every sniffle are the reason our species is fucked.  Well done.  However, we can get ahead of this.  If finding better immunizations is impossible, and more hardcore drugs won’t work, then we have to find another way around this.  I think my idea might work.

So I’m not just wanting this for my own sake.  I want it to help this species overcome our own shortcomings.  But maybe it’s all just science fiction.  If anyone has an alternative, let me know.

Until next time, a quote,

“Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice.” – Anton Checkov

Peace out,

Maverick

The High Price of Failure

A dear friend of mine recently graduated from basic with the US Navy.  I was proud to see her in dress whites.  Girl’s outfit was crisp, pressed, and the shoes were so shined that you could light a room with them if you had a window available for light refraction.  Now she is off to another base to study.  She’s going into Naval Intelligence.  Listening to her describe training, the dedication and the effort she put in, it’s humbling.  I hate to say it, but more than anything, the biggest emotion I feel about all of this is jealousy.

I haven’t accomplished anything with my life.  Not really.  I got a BA that isn’t even worth the 120 credits it took to get it.  Unless you have a Master’s, nobody even cares.  It just goes on a resume and that’s it.  My resume is absolute shit.  I work for the state I live in, and I am desperately trying to get ahead in my employment.  But it’s a waste of time.  I know what’s holding me back – my shit resume.  I have one job that I’ve held on to for more than a year.  One.  The rest aren’t even past six months.  It makes me look flaky.  It makes me look undependable.  Had a ton of interviews, but I haven’t even had any that have hit up my references.  That is bad.  I work at a fucking call center.  My life is helping people that I want to murder with a hammer out with their fucking problems.  It’s awful.  And at every fucking interview I have to say that it has been a learning experience or an exciting challenge or some other piece of bullshit PR nonsense.  I can’t say that this job is sucking the life out of me.  I can’t say that I am secretly wishing that I had some kind of addiction or other problem, so then at least I could say my life is unique in some way.

But it doesn’t end there.  In fact, that’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my entirely worthless life.  I am a miserable, depressing person who has depression so severe that I don’t remember what feeling joy is like.  It makes NOBODY want to talk to me.  I got one friend who talks to me on the regular.  Well, two, now that my girly-mate is out of basic and at A-School with the Navy.  So, because I am depressing as fuck, my friend life is basically gone.  With fewer and fewer people who can even stomach talking to me, I feel more and more alone in this town.  After all, Eeyore only works as a character in fiction.  Everyone in the 100 Acre Wood wants to be his friend.  Because even though he isn’t always the most cheerful, he still gets in on the fun with everyone else.  Yeah, it works in fiction.  And nowhere else.

Then there is my absolute train-wreck known simply as my love life.  That’s so pathetic that I recently decided to hit up a girl I used to work with at the Library who I had never really liked, but had always found to be appealing on a sexual level.  Because hey, why the fuck not?!  Yeah, I know I’ll never even get a response from that stellar waste of time.  That didn’t at all make me look pathetic.  Nope, not even a little.  Had a friend who said it’s good that I took the initiative.  Not for one second do I buy that.  Haven’t had a relationship in three years.  Haven’t had sex in three years.  Statistically speaking, the longer a person is single, the higher the chance that they will remain that way.  There is no hope for me.

So when my friend, the Seaman Apprentice, tells me about her life down there and all the work she has put in, I am both humbled and unimaginably jealous.  Her life is going places!  She’s married!  She’s got a whole life waiting for her when she gets home!  What do I have?  I got out of college literally on the skin of my teeth.  I got D’s my last semester.  Straight D’s.  But D’s get degrees now.  Gotta love America’s pathetic education system.  I was so burned out that I didn’t even get my degree printed on paper to let my parents hang on their wall.  You gotta pay for that shit now, and I am NOT giving that fucking worthless institution one more fucking dime!  Fuck them!  Fuck all of them!

Where does that leave me?  No-goddamn-where, that’s where.  I am chubby, pathetic failure who currently has a nasty cold in the middle of summer that is fucking pissing me off.  I took today off work, when I don’t even have the time to take off.  You know what my leave time is?!  Not that!  But if I had gone in today I would have felt like shit and been cracking on the phone.  That’s life.  I get to go to a job that I hate in order to help fucking imbeciles get their fucking child support.  That’s right, I work for child support.  The most hated entity in the fucking state, after the cops.

I feel so fucking pathetic.  I have accomplished nothing.  I will continue to accomplish nothing.  I am trying to finish a novel, but I have so many unfinished novels that I know will go absolutely nowhere.  All I have to even be remembered for once I am gone is this website, and after a while that would disappear too.  If I vanished tomorrow, how many fucking people would even notice I’m gone?!  Not many.  All the people who have left me behind.

And it’s too fucking late.  I can’t fix any of the friendships that are gone.  My resume ain’t getting any better.  My love/sex life has a plot at the local cemetery.  The price of failure.  All I am is a failed boyfriend.  A failed fiance.  A failed best friend.  A failed medical records technician.  A failed student.  All I have is failure.  I wish I knew what to do.  I keep trying.  I bust my ass at that worthless fucking job and I have no friends.  Only friends I have had there have left.  I would give anything to have one chance to go back in time and change things.  I’d give anything.  Just once.  But life doesn’t work that way.

Well, that’s enough wallowing in self-pity.  Think I’ll finish this here and cry like a little bitch because I can’t even do the normal thing and suck down a bottle of Jack Daniels to drown away my pain.  I don’t even have the will power for a fucking addiction.

Until next time, a quote,

Maybe I’m too young to know what the world is supposed to be. But it’s not supposed to be this. Can’t be this.” – Huey Freeman

Peace out,

Maverick