I am disgusted by the world. They say you cannot judge God by the actions of His humans, but His humans are all that I see. So let me judge humans. If we have been sent here to love, to be the tangible manifestation of his Message, we have failed.
I often lose faith in humanity. My soul looks at the souls of others and attempts not to vomit. Hate, lies, deceit are rampant. A treasurer steals from an NPO. A man stabs a dog. A bride is murdered the day before her wedding. Ted Bundy.
Smiles hide treachery but actions cannot.
Morality is dead. To care is to practice futility.
/theotherdemifacet/
I
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look's leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
They die.
-soliloquy of the solipsist; sylvia plath
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
3.27.2010
1.21.2010
another day
lonely little love dog
that no one knows the name of
i know why you cry out
desperate and devout
lonely little love dog
that no one knows the ways of
where the land is low is
where the bones'll show through
Getting real good at feeling sorry for myself.
that no one knows the name of
i know why you cry out
desperate and devout
lonely little love dog
that no one knows the ways of
where the land is low is
where the bones'll show through
Getting real good at feeling sorry for myself.
7.31.2009
confusion
Today I found myself watching an arm angioplasty case. One of the arteries (I'm going to guess brachial because it was really big and that's actually like one of only two arm arteries I actually know) was really stenosed so the plasty was routine. I don't usually sit in on body angiography cases because I don't understand them, but today I forced myself to sit there and watch the whole thing through.
We become very accustomed to the familiar so that when we are suddenly faced with something novel we panic, we feel uneasy, we feel uncomfortable. Through my years of undergrad, I've largely been exposed to looking at everything from the neck up; a product of neuro. I know what orientation the head is in when I look at a radiological scan, I know where things are in relation to each other and I can name the vessels as they appear. I'm not really bragging because this is all I studied in University. Just as someone in Chemistry probably knows the anatomy and physiology of the elements, this is only basic knowledge if you have been immersed long enough.
The moment I look at an arm under X-ray, I get disoriented. The quality is different, the picture is grainier, and there's all these bones that get in the way. I can't tell radius from ulna so I have no idea what position the hand is in, and when Sean came over and asked me what was up I wasn't really sure how to answer. It just let me know how much I don't know, how there are so many things beyond my scope of interest that I haven't the faintest clue about. It made me feel very stupid to be frank.
I'm not sure if I'm supposed to mention it, but Will and I had a talk about Heaven and Hell yesterday and about what it means to be Christian. In the manner in which I always preach, I gave him my two cents about what I thought it means for a Christian to be able to attain eternal rewards posthumously and what it means for a non-Christian to live by similar principles and travel in the opposite direction. I also made some judgments about Christians that I was thinking about today and want to rescind. In reflecting, I realized how little I know about religion no matter how hard I am trying to learn it and strengthen my relationship with God.
Lastly, I've been accosted with an interesting proposition from the University of Alberta. I just recently received an acceptance letter for Physiotherapy at the U of A, which I'm going to take because it makes a lot of sense. I'm just deeply upset almost that things have taken a drastic 180 turn. The night before I got the call, my mum was yelling at me to lock down a place before I went to Halifax because finding a place in September that's close to campus is extremely difficult. The next day, after hearing the news, my mum's trying to convince me to return the laptop we bought since I wouldn't have a computer there. The last few days have felt really foreign to me, almost like my world is wrapped in a few layers of saran wrap - I can see what my life is supposed to be like but it doesn't feel accessible. I feel as if the key to independence was dangled in front of me and pulled away just at the last possible second in a similar manner to Lucy and Charlie Brown. I'm really glad I'm staying because I have Mag and I have friends and Shelby and Blacky and a place to stay that doesn't charge me rent, but at the same time I'm suddenly faced with the brutal realization that I am not getting away.
When my parents left for Asia I was extremely content. I bought the groceries I wanted, cooked it in my own time without anyone rushing me or badgering me with what I was doing, and I was able to eat and read in solitude. I had ten books going at a time all strewn around the kitchen counter. I felt master and chief of my own domain, making to do lists that would actually get done and being in charge of my own well being because nobody else was there to fall back on. I had no excuses and the responsibility rested upon myself; my autonomy was paramount.
After yesterday, I have no more testicles for they belong to those around me. I am no longer a voyager of the world but a child cooped in a playpen. I'm sure I'm looking at it in a largely depressed light just because I'm not going on an extended vacation anymore. I'm sure I'll get over it, but for now this shit kinda sucks.
We become very accustomed to the familiar so that when we are suddenly faced with something novel we panic, we feel uneasy, we feel uncomfortable. Through my years of undergrad, I've largely been exposed to looking at everything from the neck up; a product of neuro. I know what orientation the head is in when I look at a radiological scan, I know where things are in relation to each other and I can name the vessels as they appear. I'm not really bragging because this is all I studied in University. Just as someone in Chemistry probably knows the anatomy and physiology of the elements, this is only basic knowledge if you have been immersed long enough.
The moment I look at an arm under X-ray, I get disoriented. The quality is different, the picture is grainier, and there's all these bones that get in the way. I can't tell radius from ulna so I have no idea what position the hand is in, and when Sean came over and asked me what was up I wasn't really sure how to answer. It just let me know how much I don't know, how there are so many things beyond my scope of interest that I haven't the faintest clue about. It made me feel very stupid to be frank.
I'm not sure if I'm supposed to mention it, but Will and I had a talk about Heaven and Hell yesterday and about what it means to be Christian. In the manner in which I always preach, I gave him my two cents about what I thought it means for a Christian to be able to attain eternal rewards posthumously and what it means for a non-Christian to live by similar principles and travel in the opposite direction. I also made some judgments about Christians that I was thinking about today and want to rescind. In reflecting, I realized how little I know about religion no matter how hard I am trying to learn it and strengthen my relationship with God.
Lastly, I've been accosted with an interesting proposition from the University of Alberta. I just recently received an acceptance letter for Physiotherapy at the U of A, which I'm going to take because it makes a lot of sense. I'm just deeply upset almost that things have taken a drastic 180 turn. The night before I got the call, my mum was yelling at me to lock down a place before I went to Halifax because finding a place in September that's close to campus is extremely difficult. The next day, after hearing the news, my mum's trying to convince me to return the laptop we bought since I wouldn't have a computer there. The last few days have felt really foreign to me, almost like my world is wrapped in a few layers of saran wrap - I can see what my life is supposed to be like but it doesn't feel accessible. I feel as if the key to independence was dangled in front of me and pulled away just at the last possible second in a similar manner to Lucy and Charlie Brown. I'm really glad I'm staying because I have Mag and I have friends and Shelby and Blacky and a place to stay that doesn't charge me rent, but at the same time I'm suddenly faced with the brutal realization that I am not getting away.
When my parents left for Asia I was extremely content. I bought the groceries I wanted, cooked it in my own time without anyone rushing me or badgering me with what I was doing, and I was able to eat and read in solitude. I had ten books going at a time all strewn around the kitchen counter. I felt master and chief of my own domain, making to do lists that would actually get done and being in charge of my own well being because nobody else was there to fall back on. I had no excuses and the responsibility rested upon myself; my autonomy was paramount.
After yesterday, I have no more testicles for they belong to those around me. I am no longer a voyager of the world but a child cooped in a playpen. I'm sure I'm looking at it in a largely depressed light just because I'm not going on an extended vacation anymore. I'm sure I'll get over it, but for now this shit kinda sucks.
7.25.2009
crisis
I woke up this morning and the existentialist alter ego of mine took over as the main identity in my palette of mixed personalities. I put on my headphones and listened to a variety of thought inducing tracks while I stared out the window: Taylor Swift - Fifteen, Emily Haines - Reading in Bed, My Brightest Diamond - Golden Star, Kanye West - I Wonder, Kings of Leon - Manhattan; soundtrack of my life. I've finally achieved that state of nirvana when doing this, almost akin to when I was staring at the ocean off the coast of Peggy's Cove in Halifax. I'm able to see my thoughts stirring in a pot before me and better control how they appear to me - it's easier to understand yourself when you're omnipotent over your mind.
One thing I noticed lingering over all my thoughts was a cumulus stratus of unease. I zoomed real close to it like you would zoom in on your digital camera, and I found that this was the air of disappointment. Earl, my dissociative existentialist state (I just dubbed him that), realized that this portion of my mind is the choking smog that constantly swirls around me, hovering like the cloud of pollution above industrial countries. It is this air that continuously tells me I will never be enough, I will never be satisfied, I will always sell myself short.
So I pan out and observe my life through the lens of Earl's -5.75 and -5.25 degree glasses, and I see clearly. No ring, no surgical prowess, no semblance of artistic talent, no published works, no subscriptions to Nature Neuroscience, no understanding of social interactions and being part of social constructs, a lousy Scrabble score, an empty bank account, and a person that has never traveled anywhere he's wanted to go in his life. If I was Earl all the time, I'd kill myself.
God, if we are to be humbled, I am humbled so. I understand what it means to be at the nidus of this web of excellence yet be at the nadir of the ziggurat of achievement simultaneously, so please, I beg you, take me by the hand and show me where to go.
One thing I noticed lingering over all my thoughts was a cumulus stratus of unease. I zoomed real close to it like you would zoom in on your digital camera, and I found that this was the air of disappointment. Earl, my dissociative existentialist state (I just dubbed him that), realized that this portion of my mind is the choking smog that constantly swirls around me, hovering like the cloud of pollution above industrial countries. It is this air that continuously tells me I will never be enough, I will never be satisfied, I will always sell myself short.
So I pan out and observe my life through the lens of Earl's -5.75 and -5.25 degree glasses, and I see clearly. No ring, no surgical prowess, no semblance of artistic talent, no published works, no subscriptions to Nature Neuroscience, no understanding of social interactions and being part of social constructs, a lousy Scrabble score, an empty bank account, and a person that has never traveled anywhere he's wanted to go in his life. If I was Earl all the time, I'd kill myself.
God, if we are to be humbled, I am humbled so. I understand what it means to be at the nidus of this web of excellence yet be at the nadir of the ziggurat of achievement simultaneously, so please, I beg you, take me by the hand and show me where to go.
7.22.2009
dripsody
On a cold Thursday evening here I sit
in this tub
across from you.
The window is open.
Cold air blows through and tousles my hair.
The water is cold and with the wind I achieve
goose flesh.
I feel sorry for myself
the way a Sylvia Plath character does
much in the same way a small child
who's dropped his ice cream cone stares disbelievingly
at his poor fortune.
I would cry tears but the tears have already been shed.
The tears have filled this tub with cold water that grows
icier
every moment. Every so often the tap leaks, bleeding a tiny
bubble that
goes
...
..
.
plop!
A inanimate tear shed. You cry for me too.
If we are not related by consanguinity
we are at least related by this moment
this morose, Gothic instant of time.
I sigh, exhale a cold breath that turns to steam
in the winter air. I pick up the sliver of soap
on the edge of the tub with my fingernails and lather my arms.
Bubbles float the surface of my skin and I feel
cleansed
if at least physically, hygienically.
I take this soap that floats in the tub -
driftwood -
and sharpen one of the ends to a point
then put it back on the ledge.
It is only so easy to have
a shiv to cut the grease.
What I need is
a knife to clean a life.
***
Hugh Le Caine was one of the pioneers at the forefront of creating music using post-war technologies, a.k.a. electronic music. Canadians are very well known in this movement, which has been translated commercially to DJs who play and mash tunes off their Macbooks to artists using synths and looping devices to create music. This piece was recorded from a since drop of water in the sink that was bothering Le Caine at night. As most artists understand, it is always at the most surprising and inopportune moment that inspiration flashes and so he seized the moment, grabbed a recording device and made that water drop digital. He used the computer to speed it up and slow it down, time the drops, basically do what any artist does to render his works to life. The result is this interesting moment in time, an auditory piece of history.
in this tub
across from you.
The window is open.
Cold air blows through and tousles my hair.
The water is cold and with the wind I achieve
goose flesh.
I feel sorry for myself
the way a Sylvia Plath character does
much in the same way a small child
who's dropped his ice cream cone stares disbelievingly
at his poor fortune.
I would cry tears but the tears have already been shed.
The tears have filled this tub with cold water that grows
icier
every moment. Every so often the tap leaks, bleeding a tiny
bubble that
goes
...
..
.
plop!
A inanimate tear shed. You cry for me too.
If we are not related by consanguinity
we are at least related by this moment
this morose, Gothic instant of time.
I sigh, exhale a cold breath that turns to steam
in the winter air. I pick up the sliver of soap
on the edge of the tub with my fingernails and lather my arms.
Bubbles float the surface of my skin and I feel
cleansed
if at least physically, hygienically.
I take this soap that floats in the tub -
driftwood -
and sharpen one of the ends to a point
then put it back on the ledge.
It is only so easy to have
a shiv to cut the grease.
What I need is
a knife to clean a life.
***
Hugh Le Caine was one of the pioneers at the forefront of creating music using post-war technologies, a.k.a. electronic music. Canadians are very well known in this movement, which has been translated commercially to DJs who play and mash tunes off their Macbooks to artists using synths and looping devices to create music. This piece was recorded from a since drop of water in the sink that was bothering Le Caine at night. As most artists understand, it is always at the most surprising and inopportune moment that inspiration flashes and so he seized the moment, grabbed a recording device and made that water drop digital. He used the computer to speed it up and slow it down, time the drops, basically do what any artist does to render his works to life. The result is this interesting moment in time, an auditory piece of history.
7.17.2009
a lesson in humility
And so it begins anew:
Hatred bubbles in me, a boiling, curdling sort of hatred that is black as tar, black as midnight. Here is an invisible lesion that festers, oozing the pus of madness, blistering with anger and frustration. I long to find an easy escape, to stab the center to relieve the pressure. It would be all too easy to lash out, to use words that sting more than these emotional nettles that plague me.
I am reminded all too often to take the path less travelled, to walk in the sandals of Jesus or to "be the bigger man." My desktop tells me that the only answer is love, God appears to me in my dreams only to say I must use my heart and not my head, and my only love tells me to love even when I don't feel loved. It is so easy to say it and so difficult to carry out.
I start arguments with bubble tea owners over the intrinsic value of offering a napkin. I mouth off employees of AHS when they berate me for going for a second helping at the free pancake breakfast. If Mag is impatient with me for being dense or stupid or forgetful, I am immediately incensed, raise my voice, and take on a condescending tone. I yell at movie theatre employees and managers even when they are being perfectly nice to me and are following all the rules and regulations they outline in their workplace policy.
If I attempt to be so good, to come to a full stop at red lights even at 2 AM with no cars around, to hold open the door for anyone and everyone no matter how far away they are, to not take advantage of a situation for its utility, I am suddenly faced with the embarassment of the human condition, that I am so mortally full of sin that sometimes I wonder what it even means to try. But such is the battle, and if we give up hope then we are no more than the evil which intends to consume us.
And so I am reminded not to think that I am anything more than an animated sack of water with a handful of mineral thrown in who has been given a world of opportunity by God.
Hatred bubbles in me, a boiling, curdling sort of hatred that is black as tar, black as midnight. Here is an invisible lesion that festers, oozing the pus of madness, blistering with anger and frustration. I long to find an easy escape, to stab the center to relieve the pressure. It would be all too easy to lash out, to use words that sting more than these emotional nettles that plague me.
I am reminded all too often to take the path less travelled, to walk in the sandals of Jesus or to "be the bigger man." My desktop tells me that the only answer is love, God appears to me in my dreams only to say I must use my heart and not my head, and my only love tells me to love even when I don't feel loved. It is so easy to say it and so difficult to carry out.
I start arguments with bubble tea owners over the intrinsic value of offering a napkin. I mouth off employees of AHS when they berate me for going for a second helping at the free pancake breakfast. If Mag is impatient with me for being dense or stupid or forgetful, I am immediately incensed, raise my voice, and take on a condescending tone. I yell at movie theatre employees and managers even when they are being perfectly nice to me and are following all the rules and regulations they outline in their workplace policy.
If I attempt to be so good, to come to a full stop at red lights even at 2 AM with no cars around, to hold open the door for anyone and everyone no matter how far away they are, to not take advantage of a situation for its utility, I am suddenly faced with the embarassment of the human condition, that I am so mortally full of sin that sometimes I wonder what it even means to try. But such is the battle, and if we give up hope then we are no more than the evil which intends to consume us.
And so I am reminded not to think that I am anything more than an animated sack of water with a handful of mineral thrown in who has been given a world of opportunity by God.
6.26.2009
oh
Posting is catharsis, but thought is the ultimate sleuth as to the nature of our circumstances. One of my jobs at work is to stand there and fold five bags of towels for each room, so I get a chance to stand there for about 10 minutes each day doing nothing but thinking. I'm usually in the hallway by myself doing this while other people run amok around me, so it's really my alone time.
At work you have to try to be pretty energetic, mostly because the day is monotonous and long punctuated by spurts of activity when a room finally opens up and you can stock/clean it. Since I don't get a lot of sleep each night, I have largely relied on at least two large coffees in the morning and lots of positive thinking.
This morning, my positive outlook crumbled, and I ended up folding towels feeling quite sorry for myself. In my emo state, a lot of thoughts were running through my head. I don't consider myself to be even remotely suicidal nor anywhere near delusional, but my flow of consciousness went from "I fucking hate my job" to "This is so demeaning" to "I want to kill myself" - metaphorically of course, kind of like how people say, "I'd rather put a gun to my head than do -------."
I started thinking about recent events: My $50 parking ticket and my $110 speeding ticket, my interview with Manitoba PA (yes I got an interview but I'm pretty certain I'm going to turn it down, wish they let me know sooner), the fact that I'm moving a million miles away to Halifax and leaving my beloved behind, the concept that I will never be financially secure and Mag will probably be the breadwinner in this relationship. With heavy heart, a lone thought floated like a stratus cloud overtop of my turmoil, and it said in bold faced font on a white background like the fortune from a fortune cookie: YOU ARE DEPRESSED. (And then back: LOTTO NUMBERS: 3 8 10 13 33 38 44
So there. I am really emotionally unstable right now because of contradictory events in my life. Too much happy and too much sad = anxiety.
At work you have to try to be pretty energetic, mostly because the day is monotonous and long punctuated by spurts of activity when a room finally opens up and you can stock/clean it. Since I don't get a lot of sleep each night, I have largely relied on at least two large coffees in the morning and lots of positive thinking.
This morning, my positive outlook crumbled, and I ended up folding towels feeling quite sorry for myself. In my emo state, a lot of thoughts were running through my head. I don't consider myself to be even remotely suicidal nor anywhere near delusional, but my flow of consciousness went from "I fucking hate my job" to "This is so demeaning" to "I want to kill myself" - metaphorically of course, kind of like how people say, "I'd rather put a gun to my head than do -------."
I started thinking about recent events: My $50 parking ticket and my $110 speeding ticket, my interview with Manitoba PA (yes I got an interview but I'm pretty certain I'm going to turn it down, wish they let me know sooner), the fact that I'm moving a million miles away to Halifax and leaving my beloved behind, the concept that I will never be financially secure and Mag will probably be the breadwinner in this relationship. With heavy heart, a lone thought floated like a stratus cloud overtop of my turmoil, and it said in bold faced font on a white background like the fortune from a fortune cookie: YOU ARE DEPRESSED. (And then back: LOTTO NUMBERS: 3 8 10 13 33 38 44
So there. I am really emotionally unstable right now because of contradictory events in my life. Too much happy and too much sad = anxiety.
6.05.2009
um
things that make me sad right now
*EDIT: Things are starting to look up*
I don't feel smart or even capable or competent right now.
*EDIT: Things are starting to look up*
I don't feel smart or even capable or competent right now.
6.03.2009
5.17.2009
5.01.2009
3.31.2009
thesadcycle
Dr. Pawluk came to talk to us about sleep medicine today, and managed to condense his lecture into about 50 minutes to our relief. He's obviously in the right field because the way he talks just makes you want to curl up inside his vocal cords and take a long nap; it's so soothing and slow and soft... a..nd...zzZz.z....Zz.z.....
Anyways, people with major depressive disorder (MDD) tend to have low quality sleeps, despite the fact that they display hypersolemnence (and just general avolition really). Normal people tend to have this sleep architecture where they'll experience a some slow wave sleep in the early stages, then flip to lots of REM earlier in the morning. People with MDD generally have lots of REM, replacing the early slow wave sleep they should be getting to feel well rested, and generally have little to no slow wave sleep at all.
One could think this is epiphenomenal, but a very very interesting hypothesis presented is that the insomnia is therapeutic. What? There was an interesting note that someone published a long time ago that found that total, partial, or just REM sleep deprivation (waking the patient up when they hit REM) led to extremely positive antidepressant effects, with up to a 60% success rate! Of course, this makes for a shitty long term therapy (imagine depriving someone of sleep every day) and isn't long lasting, but it prompted the idea that increased REM pressure in your sleep cycle is not a good thing.
Adrien (2002) thus proposed that the body attempts to create a therapeutic, protective state to rectify affective dysfunctions by mimicking sleep deprivation. This is done by creating insomnia, the mechanism of which lies in increased REM pressure, as seen on the EEGs of MDD patients. Unfortunately, increased REM also means poor sleep, but I guess the body decided to make the tradeoff between sleep hygiene and affective function.
Fascinating, I know. It goes to show that things don't necessarily share a causal relationship, and that there may be a more complex relation between two entities. It's always important to keep the most basic elements of the scientific method in mind, no matter the nature of your research.
Anyways, people with major depressive disorder (MDD) tend to have low quality sleeps, despite the fact that they display hypersolemnence (and just general avolition really). Normal people tend to have this sleep architecture where they'll experience a some slow wave sleep in the early stages, then flip to lots of REM earlier in the morning. People with MDD generally have lots of REM, replacing the early slow wave sleep they should be getting to feel well rested, and generally have little to no slow wave sleep at all.
One could think this is epiphenomenal, but a very very interesting hypothesis presented is that the insomnia is therapeutic. What? There was an interesting note that someone published a long time ago that found that total, partial, or just REM sleep deprivation (waking the patient up when they hit REM) led to extremely positive antidepressant effects, with up to a 60% success rate! Of course, this makes for a shitty long term therapy (imagine depriving someone of sleep every day) and isn't long lasting, but it prompted the idea that increased REM pressure in your sleep cycle is not a good thing.
Adrien (2002) thus proposed that the body attempts to create a therapeutic, protective state to rectify affective dysfunctions by mimicking sleep deprivation. This is done by creating insomnia, the mechanism of which lies in increased REM pressure, as seen on the EEGs of MDD patients. Unfortunately, increased REM also means poor sleep, but I guess the body decided to make the tradeoff between sleep hygiene and affective function.
Fascinating, I know. It goes to show that things don't necessarily share a causal relationship, and that there may be a more complex relation between two entities. It's always important to keep the most basic elements of the scientific method in mind, no matter the nature of your research.
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