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Reflection from February 3rd, 2008 @ Age 26


I am gravely disappointed in my friends and family, and beyond them, of the entirety of the human race.  When you love another person, I think that means more than providing the occasional phone call, maybe an email here and there.  I think love means more than saying I hope you feel better, call me when you do because you’re too difficult to be around in the state you’re in.  I find it hugely disappointing that my “friends” and family love only marginally, when it’s convenient for them.  It’s difficult to live, knowing what love is, around people who truly have no idea.  Sure, love takes effort—but isn’t that what makes it so worthwhile?

And in that frame of thought—wouldn’t my life, in all the excessive effort I’ve had to put into it, consequently turn out to be quite worthwhile?  I suppose that is reason enough to stick it out one more day—but I won’t poison myself with foolish thoughts of hope.

You know, I think perhaps the most difficult aspect of mental illness turns out to be that the illness is not unordinary in substance, but in degree.  Sure, most of the emotions I feel are the same kind of emotions that all human beings feel; that is not where the difference lies, do you see?  The illness rather permeates in the degree to which I feel emotions, which is with far more intensity than is possible for a mentally healthy person to ever truly understand.  I think if you were a mother and suffered the loss of your child before your own passing—I think that is an emotion, the intensity of which no other person who has not endured the same set circumstance will ever really understand.  It’s like that, except even worse in description because there’s no one certain catalyst of despair, but only constant despair arising eternally and concomitantly with one’s consciousness.  Which is why, in this moment, it makes more sense to me than not, that for the mentally ill only in death (i.e. the release from consciousness) will they truly find any sense of relief.**

Well, back to bar studies.  It’s been swell.

**6/15/2014 UPDATE — I changed my mind; relief could be found in sociological tolerance and compassion for those who are “different”, if only we could find that somehow within our American society.