October 6, 2009

• As November 22ᵑᵈ of this year steadily creeps closer, I have to remind myself that I'll no longer be a teenager. And, while I understand there's a level of ridiculous to this thought, I can't help but feel like Harvey Milk in that I'll be 20 years and I haven't done a thing.

  Part of this comes from the school of thought I originate from. Probably unfortunately, my childhood was marked by trying to avoid "thought corruption" by my elders and keeping as far from suicide as my depression-riddled body was able - and trying to keep all others I knew from this as well.

  In a quantity and consistency that's really rather frightening, most of everyone my age I knew, regardless of place of residency, had parents which weren't exactly healthy for their wellbeing. And, to the well-rounded extent that I'm leaning towards thinking it was a generational thing that we all shared, issues like depression, parental abuse, drug-use to cope with these issues, self-injury, and suicide ended up being recurrent trends.

  Enough so that I've continually tried to make this a rallying point for us. Because we all seemed to've experienced it in some fashion, our goals and beliefs would end up being similar by having to form around these issues.

  I'm continually inspired by and feel kin to the radical and progressive movements - while, in some ways, radically different. I, admittedly, am rather critical of the radical movements of the 60s/70s. Plus, I take quite to heart the Gandhi saying, "Be the change you want to see in the world." I might not be able to lead large protest movements or marches, yet I can control my day to day actions. It amazes me how badly my beard seems to just flat out bother people (something which ought to make them question why, yet I doubt they will); sure, no one will probably ever agree with my opinions on our physical being - but that doesn't mean I'm going to alter how I react and view it. This, to me, is a form of radicalism.

  And yet...it all feels so minimal in the end.

  By God, what have I done? There's tons of kids still being abused out there, still viewing suicide as a primary option and still in need of help. Those who I've actually persuaded away from suicide probably could've gone through those multiple times with me not there and would still be alive today. And too many of those I've continually helped all these years seem more content to repeat their mistakes than make any actual corrections (unfortunately, I couldn't have been their parents to begin with to make sure they got the proper, healthy raising they deserved).

  And, more than anything, they've chosen to remain separated, living out their own lives as best they can instead. Which, honestly, I can't blame them for. I've resided to apathy far more than I'd like to admit in my own life. At the end of it all, just surviving should be enough to brag about.

  And yet...fuck, I want revolution, damn it. I want change, I want groups aligning for a common cause and purpose. Or, if not that, choosing those small things we can do everyday that run counter to societal expectations (http://thirst2.xanga.com/701294403/item/) and more people doing it. I would love to have a bunch of writers get apartments together or next to each other to discuss fiction and literature in the same fashion of thought as the Beatniks or the Inklings (Kaz and Kari, I have you closest to mind there). Or simply having hour long discussions on a regular basis with people about the little of things dealing with philosophy, morality, the state of society and life, etc. etc. etc. (that I did this with Allison nearly every day of 2 summers ago only continues to amaze me the more and more it dawns on me - a feat like that is not likely to happen again with a person).

  Yet I'm left with this feeling in my stomach that we just drift through each day. We don't expand our thinking, dream forward, and connect with each other (locally or on a grander scale) - we just try to survive. Which, again, I can hardly grudge anyone for. As a child of depression, I can hardly spurn so noble a goal (does it twist anyone else's guts at the truth of that statement?) in contempt at anyone. Feeling normal is too difficult a task to call it just, really (I actually should do another post on that subject alone sometime).

  And yet...I hate to call it apathy, but it gives me that feeling. I feel like even I can call myself guilty of not doing any of the above (beyond myself) - or certainly, at least, not propagating the above beyond myself.

  I mean, there are ideas and ideals that should be sprung into the world for testing, challenging, and ironing out - yet I feel that, were I to pass now, anything I've thought out and created, as far as thought goes, would not be remembered beyond those who were close to me, nor necessarily well except by a small, small group. They would have little influence, at all. There are people out there who could use help, structuring, getting on their feet to grow on their own as a result of poor raising (for a variety of reasons) and yet I feel nothing changes, or I can't reach others (then again, who knows what difference it might make). I mean, remove me from the stretch of time, and does the terrain of people's lives change all that much (and I mean would where they are now be all that much different; not by the usual changes in the facts of a person life that is bound to happen when you remove a person they knew from their lives; and I don't mean would they miss me - if you removed me, would they be happier, sadder (because life is worse), dead, sick, etc. etc. etc.)?

  I'm reaching 20 years old and I feel I've done so damn little with my life.

  And with a rate like that, I don't see much changing, or able to change, in the future.

  • 7:02 pm
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