On Thursday Night...

It takes a lot of strength for me to write this. But it's much easier than explaining it to someone face-to-face, because then I don't feel as if I am burdening you with my problems. I do not feel as if I am opening up to you, pouring out my deepest darkest fears, while your thoughts remain caged in, walled behind your own personal barriers. Somehow, this is a safe space - the twilight zone in which neither you nor I can truly exist. But I need to tell this tale - if not for me, for the others who suffer similarly. Fellow depressives, you are not alone.

On Thursday night, I was standing on the platform at Finchley Road tube station, peering over the edge of the platform. I stood near the end, where the train would enter the platform at speed. It seemed so easy to just let go, to take a simple step forward and just jump. Death seemed like life - the only difference being that I would no longer have to bear the pain of the latter. But something did stop me. I believe it was thinking of the poor people who would have to clear up my remains, but honestly, it could have been anything. What I was aware of, however, was that I could not simply carry on.

For the last few weeks, perhaps since the beginning of February, I have seen myself slowly slip away from friends and family. Somehow being the constant event planner was becoming exhausting. And my empty Friday nights and weekends became more frequent. It seems as though everyone is always busy - relationships hogged everyone else's weekends, and spare week nights were by now filled quickly with exhausting work commitments. I started to distance myself from reality, escaping the way I usually do, through: comfort reading Ursula K Le Guin and other authors; watching a load of geeky films; and ultimately, using any opportunity to grasp onto any form of the non-real. I knew I was experiencing a low, but for some reason I was certain it wasn't too bad.

I don't know whether it was my action of not contacting friends, or if it was the lack of contact from friends and family that triggered off my current depressive cycle. Whatever the case, I was disconnected from the network. And I began to feel very very alone. Like someone living in plastic bubble, utterly incapable of feeling anything other than the pain of alienation. And this terrifies me.

My anxieties spread further. I could see the campaigning flaws of the 1960s showing up again in the current activist circles. We have the same arguments, the same flawed tactics, and all in all, everything is still run by a bunch of middle-class white boys who see themselves intellectually liberated from the 'common' person (while also claiming to represent them). I saw the focus of our campaigns moving away from caring about social justice towards intergenerational victimhood. Instead of showing off our strength we were now employing self-pity as our primary campaign tool.

I now wonder if we can change anything at all. If we never learn from our mistakes, will we ever be more just? Can society ever be more than a bunch of baboons trying to vie for power as it were the only banana in the world? And if the world can never change, what would my role be? Where would my purpose lie? The emptiness of everything is overbearing. The pain of nothingness unbearable.

And then there was work. Once again, I feel like I'm failing. Like I can barely hold everything together. And for about a month, I can feel my workplace become more and more tense. Yes, I was more stressed - but I don't do stress when it comes to me fulfilling my responsibilities. But the pressure was external, and for the sake of employment, I will not go into further details. But I did feel like I was failing at everything. And so went away the final straws of my self-esteem.

For me, there are few things I want from life: adventure, warmth/love (stability?) and meaning. And on Thursday night, all of those things seemed impossible. I was exhausted and feeling like a failure. I felt friendless and alone. And the world had lost meaning. Nothing was left - and me and nothing don't work well together.

I know what Nothing is because I can feel it. It's not just hopelessness, it is a physical illness. I feel deep in sorrow, and even laughing can't help me escape it. I am easily angered. I am exhausted. I cannot concentrate properly. I cry easily. And I feel like I could scream, vomit and tear all my hair out all at the same time.

I don't want to be alone with Nothing again. I need help, but the psychiatrist I turned to is more interested in bankrupting me than helping me out. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) failed me miserably. And I don't know who to turn to for professional advice.

I want to be able to love again. I want to be wanting to hug everyone again. I want to cry and make it all disappear. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

On Thursday Night...

It takes a lot of strength for me to write this. But it's much easier than explaining it to someone face-to-face, because then I don't feel as if I am burdening you with my problems. I do not feel as if I am opening up to you, pouring out my deepest darkest fears, while your thoughts remain caged in, walled behind your own personal barriers. Somehow, this is a safe space - the twilight zone in which neither you nor I can truly exist. But I need to tell this tale - if not for me, for the others who suffer similarly. Fellow depressives, you are not alone.

On Thursday night, I was standing on the platform at Finchley Road tube station, peering over the edge of the platform. I stood near the end, where the train would enter the platform at speed. It seemed so easy to just let go, to take a simple step forward and just jump. Death seemed like life - the only difference being that I would no longer have to bear the pain of the latter. But something did stop me. I believe it was thinking of the poor people who would have to clear up my remains, but honestly, it could have been anything. What I was aware of, however, was that I could not simply carry on.

For the last few weeks, perhaps since the beginning of February, I have seen myself slowly slip away from friends and family. Somehow being the constant event planner was becoming exhausting. And my empty Friday nights and weekends became more frequent. It seems as though everyone is always busy - relationships hogged everyone else's weekends, and spare week nights were by now filled quickly with exhausting work commitments. I started to distance myself from reality, escaping the way I usually do, through: comfort reading Ursula K Le Guin and other authors; watching a load of geeky films; and ultimately, using any opportunity to grasp onto any form of the non-real. I knew I was experiencing a low, but for some reason I was certain it wasn't too bad.

I don't know whether it was my action of not contacting friends, or if it was the lack of contact from friends and family that triggered off my current depressive cycle. Whatever the case, I was disconnected from the network. And I began to feel very very alone. Like someone living in plastic bubble, utterly incapable of feeling anything other than the pain of alienation. And this terrifies me.

My anxieties spread further. I could see the campaigning flaws of the 1960s showing up again in the current activist circles. We have the same arguments, the same flawed tactics, and all in all, everything is still run by a bunch of middle-class white boys who see themselves intellectually liberated from the 'common' person (while also claiming to represent them). I saw the focus of our campaigns moving away from caring about social justice towards intergenerational victimhood. Instead of showing off our strength we were now employing self-pity as our primary campaign tool.

I now wonder if we can change anything at all. If we never learn from our mistakes, will we ever be more just? Can society ever be more than a bunch of baboons trying to vie for power as it were the only banana in the world? And if the world can never change, what would my role be? Where would my purpose lie? The emptiness of everything is overbearing. The pain of nothingness unbearable.

And then there was work. Once again, I feel like I'm failing. Like I can barely hold everything together. And for about a month, I can feel my workplace become more and more tense. Yes, I was more stressed - but I don't do stress when it comes to me fulfilling my responsibilities. But the pressure was external, and for the sake of employment, I will not go into further details. But I did feel like I was failing at everything. And so went away the final straws of my self-esteem.

For me, there are few things I want from life: adventure, warmth/love (stability?) and meaning. And on Thursday night, all of those things seemed impossible. I was exhausted and feeling like a failure. I felt friendless and alone. And the world had lost meaning. Nothing was left - and me and nothing don't work well together.

I know what Nothing is because I can feel it. It's not just hopelessness, it is a physical illness. I feel deep in sorrow, and even laughing can't help me escape it. I am easily angered. I am exhausted. I cannot concentrate properly. I cry easily. And I feel like I could scream, vomit and tear all my hair out all at the same time.

I don't want to be alone with Nothing again. I need help, but the psychiatrist I turned to is more interested in bankrupting me than helping me out. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) failed me miserably. And I don't know who to turn to for professional advice.

I want to be able to love again. I want to be wanting to hug everyone again. I want to cry and make it all disappear. I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

Happiness: the BIG lie

Does everyone hit a point in their lives where nothing matters much anymore? Right now, everything feels rather like a burden. And memories of better times just really hurt. I find wonders, but am too exhausted to really notice. And more than anything, my mind longs to escape.

Has society really ever improved? Is there any way to really make the world a better place? Or is there a hidden balance that makes everyone mostly miserable?

Tell me please: are you happy?

Cracks in the pane of Enlightenment

I think there is a dark space within us all. And that darkness is only growing, its roots growing thicker into the inner essence of who we are. But those roots are breaking apart the fragile pieces that keep us together. We're like cracks in glass, splittering apart, only to shatter into a thousand pieces.

I don't think this darkness is caused by a greater understanding of ourselves, as we are repeatedly told. All that we say we know - through cognitive sciences, neurology and and other neurosciences based on cultural imperialisms - there is within its own language enough logic to refute itself.

No the darkness comes from this belief that we can somehow know better. The myths of Enlightenment that for whatever reason we cannot seem to shake off. The colonial, social Darwinist myths of Enlightenment, I should add.

This superior belief is the foundation of the hierarchical systems that cause inequality, and cause endless power battles.

This needs to end... Before we are pieces of glass that can no longer connect.

Confessions of Depressed Mad-woman

I am in the shower, curled up on the floor. The hot water splatters down the sides of my neck and down my back. I am quivering, shaking, and exhausted, despite the fact that it's 9pm and I've spent the whole day sleeping. The salty tears roll down my face.

The memories are coming back. The years of insults, bullying, endless dreams of a future that would actually mean something. The beginning of all of this: the on-going battle just to live. And more than anything, the loneliness. The deep, haunting loneliness that bellows out from the deepest part of my soul.

It's no dog barking. There is no fucking black dog.

It's a creature of thick black tar that insipidly crawls in my body. All is heavy. All is disgusting. I want to tear my insides out, rip away at my flesh and push the thick darkness out.

Five years of this. Five years of my life have gone on a battle I don't want to fight. How much longer? All my ambition, my drive, my excitement and enthusiasm about the future has been washed away.

And the anger is building up. All that frustration, that feeling of being treated like an idiot by everyone. Around me, people are building up a life. I still feel like a teenager: angst, rebellious, desperate to escape from a world that has bound me to its expectations of propriety.

I want to belong somewhere. I want to feel like someone actually wants me. I don't want to be a burden anymore. My heart is tearing at itself apart, desperate to find the Nishma who used to believe in a better world.

A relapse of letters

Perhaps it is time to restart writing. Perhaps it is time to let the words slip down the crevices of your mind, from technological transactions through to neurological influxes. But my mind is caught, reluctantly clutching onto this part of a mindspace that is hollow, empty & void. They do not form. They want to gesticulate, perform, express without meaning or structure. The slip away from my fingers as I reach out, desperate to clutch onto them, and anything... Anything at all. Where do we start thinking? Where do the words form? I feel unable to enanciate, and yet I could - in the deepest, darkest part of my soul. And I am so close to it again. Rules, regulations, behavioural codes - what do all of these mean? Nothing. The words are stuck in my throat. I'm hurtful, or the hurted? I know not anymore.

Hollow

All alone.
Nothing beside me.
Silence, except for the sounds of passing traffic.

The land of forgotten voices...

Browsing the internet, as one does, in hushed voices and hidden in dark corridors with the weight of countless heavy tomes behind you, I stumble across the delights of Postcolonial Web. Though absurdly interesting, with its expansive definitions of postcolonialism and its seemingly in-depth connection between various different postcolonial authors, the category on Australia was surprsing. To my horror, as I turned upon its page and scurried down its contents, I noticed that leaping out of the page was not the tales of those truly colonised but the whispers of a members who continue to colonise Australia (and New Zealand) today; a broken link to aboriginal authors was all that remains of these true Australians - ignored are even those who have won the Miles Franklin award!

I guess the only way I can interpret this lack of recognition is to argue that for Aboriginal people, there is no postcolonial state, but that they are very much in the clutches of colonialism today.

We said 'Sorry' so we start all over again...

What was the point of reconciliation when the Australian government continues to practice Paternalism? Apparently reconstructing Aboriginal households in a western model of pure, hygienic, squared and roofed housing is going to solve all their problems. Perhaps later the government will force a regimental system of education that will make every Aboriginal person like vegemite (and numbers and Western literature and history) upon every Aboriginal child. Oh wait, I forgot - they already do that!

The government's veni, vidi, vici approach is disgustingly reminiscent of brute colonialism. What right have Kevin Rudd and Jenny Macklin to say anything about Aboriginal people? What gives them the right to take over (without permission from the local Aboriginal council) camps around Alice Springs and instead, spend AUS$100 million to rebuild Aboriginal homes (into houses) in a way that threatens Aboriginal culture and practice? Yes, the living conditions for Aboriginal people are are shite, but there are reasons for such strong opposition to the government proposal.

By indoctrinating Aboriginal people with western rules and regulations on how to live and conduct their lives, their situation will only worsen. The government has little understanding of how Aboriginal culture functions and how their ailments may be alleviated. It is not their decision to live in such horrific conditions, but the result of constantly being treated like vermin.

If Rudd really thinks such plans will reduce sex abuse, alcoholism and poverty, then he is living in a imperialism dream-world. Such plans can only further feelings of destitution, incompetence and powerlessness which are at the root of the current differences in living standards between the Aboriginal and the 'Other'.

Equality is the only solution. It comes from autonomy and the freedom and opportunity to make your own decisions. It comes from political support from not oppression. Absolute power may corrupt absolutely, but self-determinism gives a power to live.

Aboriginal People don't need us to take care of them. Respect their decisions and recognise their equality in intelligence and knowledge and 'Other' Australians may find a solution to not only the Aboriginal condition but their own.

Another procrastination from the Nishma

Argh, so I've had to succumb to teaching myself Wordpress CMS after purposely avoiding it for years. But then again, I did turn to Blogger (out of desperation, I'll have you know), so it's not like that's any better.

On another note, Sven Lindqvist is a God. Almost.

Edit: I am not going to work out Wordpress as it costs money to customise even the CSS! It's ridiculous and I don't care is that means I'm living in the past.

Can a sufferer speak true?

I really shouldn't only update this blog when things aren't going particularly well, but I need advice and help. I have been put on venlafaxine, and in spirits, I feel better. I don't seem so self-deprecating and I certainly feel I have more energy. However, things haven't been going so well, and I am scared that I'll never be able to cope by myself.

I need help in finding out what I should do to get better.

1) I've read that I should start doing things I enjoy, but I don't even know what they are. How can I tell the difference from what I enjoy and what I think I should enjoy?

2) What reason is there to wake up in the morning? I don't work because there's a recession and there are no jobs. How do I pass time alone?

3) How do I face the self-deprecating demons that have crushed me into nothingness? I have no self-esteem left and that is causing severe inferiority situations, which I feel incapable of tackling.

4) How do I stop myself from breaking down? How can I not curl up into a ball every time something small and trivial turns up and I spiral into the negative thoughts that dominated my depression?

5) How do I get over the past? Every time I collapse into another breakdown, it starts off with not understanding why I was bullied at school, with family and with Indian society people from the age of about 6 to 16. What did I do wrong? And why can't I get over that?

Sorry for all these questions. I feel very lost, and I don't really know what else to do about it. The internet has been useless in this aspect.

Ripping apart the flesh of air

Everyday feels like I'm walking through Mercury: waiting for the madness to sink deeper into my flesh. I felt like a blind person regaining their sight: everything confusing, everything wrong. My life was mere spectre, unaware of the world.

And I keep tripping up and crashing against the tide. I'm never successful; I can never rest. No matter how hard I try, he always does it better. Everything I do, he achieves as well (and does it better). What have I always done wrong to end on the opposite side of the coin?

I grow tired of this. I grow tired of the emptiness. I grow tired of the struggle.

I just wish there was someone I could talk to.

The official diagnosis

They say I have depression and anxiety. I spend most of my time staring at the ceiling wondering why I keep carrying. It becomes impossible to communicate. Words are harder to form - written across a page they sound foolish and pathetic. Every conversation seems tedious and utterly pointless. What words can be formulated, constructed and discussed to mean anything or express anything at all? The world reflects my mood: it's barren demeanour echoes my hollow mind. In amongst chaos, I feel nothing but the tedium of order. I ache with exhaustion - tears a mere side-effect of a society-induced fear.

My life withers away; interests, hobbies and passions fall like dry petals cascading down towards an empty floor. How can I pick myself up again when my roots have rotted and died?

There seems nothing left. In myself there is only the void; outside, people have drifted away, managing their own lives in exuberance. I stand at window panes, wanting to walk in and join their celebrations, but there is no door and I am invisible.

How do I begin to exist again? How can I pick up the sherds and make the pot whole?

Time's Arrow: has it hit you?

Time, in Martin Amis's Time's Arrow, is reversed. Individuals live backwards: giving is stealing, and killing is bringing to life. However, his concept of time as linearly progressive and yet somehow backwards is neither convincing nor possible. What Amis's intention is, is unclear: he seems to be questioning the grounds of morality and causality, but removes humanity from such possibilities. What he presents instead is inevitability- the idea that the Final Solution was emotionally straining, but ultimately a product of its time. Human motivation and action is negligible and any behaviour to 'right' those 'wrongs' is doomed. However, it can be argued that the whole reversal of time through the Holocaust was a ironic statement relevant to the idea of 'ethnic cleansing' (i.e. killing through healing).

Even so, Amis's descriptions lack a humane response. I am utterly unconvinced by his characterisation, his 'gritty realism' and his fatalistic discourse. Time cannot work forwards in a backwards world- motivation fails to exist and fatalism overrules any possible political or ethical point.

As such, I believe, that the whole book wins on its concept, but fails in its practise.

Paternalism Continues

I know there would come a point when I would want to take back a vote of confidence in the power of the Senate to block legislation. This is it.


I'm actually rather impressed that Rudd would allow for the permits to be reinstated. It;s ridiculous that the government previous even forced these open-door policies upon them. It's almost as if Aboriginal People are still being treated as inferior, childlike and non-human. Without any autonomy, how can anyone expect that Aboriginal peoples to regain their livelihoods after being restricted, humiliated, dehumanised and massacred? It is a sense of powerlessness in a society that does not even attempt to comprehend them, and in return, they cannot be accepted as a part of. When you've got a bunch of (childish) white men (you've never seen) discussing your life, it's not that shocking that you're on a path of self-destruction.

Unrest, Protests and Terrorism: all where I'm heading

Mumbai unstable and not related to Indian Mujahideen as the Guardian claims but the Deccan Mujahedeen. I am concerned for family and people who generally reside there as well as the future tourism potential for the nation.

And what is wrong with all the news interviewing only the 'foreigners' who were attacked and not the locals. No wonder that terrorists attack international tourism locations: the media doesn't care about the locals and nor does the bloody government.

Also: Eric Jacobson is a twat. It's Thai politics, and their country and nothing he understands anyway. If he needed to go home to celebrate the massacre of American Indians Thanksgiving, then he should have booked his flights earlier. No sympathy, spoilt brat.

Awake now.

I feel like I'm taking part in a marathon which I was just suddenly made aware of. I'm lagging behind, miles behind. Everyone seems more accomplished, more content, more self-assured. They all just carry on running, heading in a particular direction, whereas I am still behind.

Why didn't I know of this world before? Everyone travels, has independence to do anything, knows so much about books, authors, comedians, films, film directors, etc. I didn't even know that directors were praised and important until recently. Where have I been? Why can't I catch up? What's wrong with me?

It's cold and alone and I don't like it here anymore. No-one seems to understand or even notice what's going on. I can't carry on like this anymore. I want to give up but I can't. I'm so tired of feeling empty. I'm so tired of hating myself. I'm tired of talking about myself. I want to be me, but it seems nothing will help.

And no-one knows what to tell me. Everything I try doesn't help. I feel so alienated and hated. What have I always done wrong to end up like this? I'm so tired of being tired.

Hope can fall

A sigh of relief covers the world, but political hope always ends in tears. The key point is Obama is not McCain, and Biden can actually think. Another matter is that he is 'black'. But what does Obama stand for? Change. I'm still not sure, what does change mean?

Obama is in all words a clever orator and a brilliant populist. His beliefs on other matters remain vague. What we know of him is relative to the extremes of McCain and Palin, not actual matter. While we know that Obama is generall going to place more regulations on the banking industry, we remain uncertain as to what that actually means. He has not set out a plan, or clearly stated his plans. As such, we are uncertain. Yet, all this remains insignificant in America. Obama is hope, his youth, inspiration (and the fact that he is black) are drawing factors. He shows care, consideration and love, mitigating any possible necessity to establish political grounds.

Obama is Charisma; the way he has managed to bring Republican supporters to his side is interesting and even frightening. With so many people trusting him to bring them out of the grey shadow of recession and dodgy foreign policy, what will happen should he fail?

Could this be Blair and 1997 all over again? Or Whitlam? I hope the latter, but that's the problem with being a leftie.

Aid is not for some

What the fuck is going on in my head? It all seems so confused. I don't know what is all is any more. Nobody seems to tell me why I can't deal with any pressure anymore. Noone seems to understand why I feel like this. Is it only self-esteem? Am I seeking out attention? The why all the anger? Why can't I email people/keep in contact/etc?

Nothing seems to make any sense anymore. Doctors don't understand and are more obsessed with preaching than actually saying anything useful. "Low self-esteem is a form of arrogance"- thanks I know; I'm all self-obsessed with my loathing (in case I forget). They're more interested in the books I read than what I actually feel.

And what is with the okay days versus the awful days? Why are some days alright whereas others are so horrible that getting up, moving or doing anything at all becomes incredibly difficult.

There's nobody who understands and I feel so lost. I don't want this to continue. I need help and I don't know where to find it.

Eugh

The NHS is hopeless organisation which has little understanding of anything. I am supposed to "read self-help books" and wait 2 months to speak to a counsellor. What a great system.

On another note, Obama and McCain are pointless in tackling climate change. Biden should have stuck to his previous statement in which he said that there was no such thing as clean coal.