I still am very much considering the justice in providing academic leniencies on account of depression. Like, being given an extra day for this math homework.

I feel like shit.

I occasionally feel like I talk about being depressed too much. Speak about something so often and then you start to feel redundant. It's just that there really is so much to say. Half the time all I can end up doing is just describing how I feel rather than getting anything really important out of the stuff I write down - but I'm still trying to make sense of it all. As in figure out that elusive Why behind these compulsions and feelings.

It amazes me how much my body still seems to move in cycles. Well, not cycles. Circles, really. I thought I was done with this. See, I can't even tell you what it is that I'm trying to define, that I have as a distinct feeling that I need to articulate. I don't know. So we'll just have to assume that this thing that I am experiencing once more that I shouldn't be experiences because I've been through it before (so it ought to be solved) is actually real and you'll just have to take it on faith from me.

Gah, I'm sorry. I haven't had a real decent entry in ages. Must be a bore to read.

I had been thinking earlier today and the thought crossed my mind that my depression might control my mood to an extent that is almost entirely domineering, like I have before.

Meaning, if it feels like casting everything in gray, then it makes all the little downers cause me to freak out and get majorly depressed and then the good stuff just becomes non-apparent.

Which is my current concept and understanding of how depression works, but not to that heavy an extent.

But let's say it is a huge extent. Meaning that nothing can bring you up at that time period because your depression makes everything seem just gigantically worse than it is. It doesn't matter how things are going, you'll feel awful and a little thing (like your schedule for the day being messed up) will feel like the end of the world.

Well, alright, so what? It's awful, unfair, sure, but it wouldn't be that big of a mind-twister. Plus, you've lived with it your entire life. You're used to it, nothing new.

But rather, let's say it has so colored everything. That might mean that those questions which couldn't seem to be answered, that feeling like something was off, like something needed to be done, and the restlessness that came with it - was just a result of bad feelings.

Meaning that they come directly from the depression. So you scour over your life, the choices you've made, how you've lived it, trying desperately to figure out how to fix this feeling like something's amiss.

Meaning it was all a lie. It didn't really exist.

Since those feelings of something being amiss were vague to begin with, I'm trying to make sense whether they were linked to depression. It's possible that what I had thought of earlier today was actually not those feelings of something being amiss but something else induced by depression. Maybe it was simply just bad emotions (i.e. a screwed up schedule being the end of the world). Or something else.

The point was, these periods of creating certain opinions and ideas about the world based on these feelings and perceptions weren't actually real. Basically, remove the depression and there wasn't anything really dramatic going on, anything that needed to be figured out.

And suddenly your mindset and how you view yourself is drawn into question. Again, those moments and times of your life were just a lie. They didn't technically exist, just figments of your crazy mind. Induced periods.

Now, I'm not exactly sure depression is that strong (or at least mine). And perhaps I'm thinking of it wrongly (after all, perhaps it's not so big a deal, in terms of the worries I listed above, if you happen to have your mood controlled sometimes; just another difficulty in life to deal with. For example, an handicap without legs has, so to speak, an induced "other reality" than everyone else. Does that make any difference?). It all needs to be sorted out more concretely.

Regardless, I feel better than I have within the past 3 or so weeks. Feels good.

I guess I should have an actual entry by now? It's been a bit of a while. Then again, my xanga has been more just my thoughts than an actual journal of my days. On the other hand...I haven't really given you guys much of actual entries as of late (either that or I'm just exercising my excellent inability to estimate time). So, for those who actually read this still, if any, what I've been up to as of late:

It's currently Winter Study, which means three weeks of one class chosen before Winter Break. I decided to take Atheism in part out of interest and in part because I thought a decent amount of the Williams Secular Community would sign up as well. Well...not exactly. A Freshman who attended some meetings at the beginning of the year and someone who had been abroad the past semester, so - at first - I thought that I knew no one in the class.

It's interesting. The class is basically entirely discussion based. We do some assigned reading the night before and then discuss the points made in them, which often unravels into many other related topics.

As for class makeup, there's 8 atheists, a Christian who's in Williams Christian Fellowship, and myself (Roman Catholic, born and raised (the raised part is a joke)). Andy is, I think, Evangelical, but he's ever so slightly more liberal in his theology (believes in evolution without discrediting the notion of a relative creation story). It adds an interesting element to the discussions.

I haven't revealed my own religious convictions to the group yet but that's largely because I don't want to commit myself to anything when I'm wrestling and weighing different types of arguments as much as because I like to play with expectations and it's easier to play the Devil's advocate when your identity is ambiguous (and, I suppose, passing has just become second nature to me by now).

However, Andy (the Christian of the group) did happen to catch me outside of class when my crucifix was outside my shirt, so he was happy to find a fellow Christian in the class. In a situation that seemed so ironic it just has to be beautiful, it soon became clear that not all our same tenets aligned as I disagreed with him on what tends to be, regardless of sect, something most Christians believe in - whether belief in God is necessary for entry into Heaven. Neither of us left the conversation persuaded by the other, but I absolutely loved the conversation regardless.

It's an interesting class and I'm really enjoying it, though disliking the 10 page paper due at the end. Plus only 2 weeks left of Winter Study....

As most of my friends know by now, I sprained my wrist playing broomball with the Marching Band. We won the game (quite beautifully with 3 or 2 to 0), though. It seems to be on the mend, which shocks me because it's only been 48 hours and I've been expecting at least a week for recovery. This, of course, doesn't discourage my general motto towards my body that if I let it take care of itself, it'll mend any sort of pain, disease, or cut on its own without any assistance.

Speaking of which, staying over Chelsea's dorm for the night to watch Tinman (sci. fi. version of The Wizard of Oz (she knows me too well...). Apparently the same person's also made a sci. fi. version of Alice In Wonderland) while Chels was sick turned into me catching whatever she had. I woke up this morning with the worst throat ache I've ever had. Taking my temperature confirmed also that I had a slight fever. It being 7:48 in the morning, I didn't want to deal with it and went back to sleep. By 2 today, the throat pain was barely noticeable anymore and (I assume) my temperature has returned to normal.

The less pleasant portion of this story started at lunch (though flared up partially yesterday). I was just sitting there and, well, I just wanted to curl up right there. It's odd to explain. It's like you want to be alone yet hate it, wanting to do something but all that ends up being is just rocking back and forth. It often happens when I just leave the presence of other people. The thing is, you can't really tell when it's gonna come. I'm pretty sure it's a result of depression - I mean, what else am I going to blame random, out-of-the-blue, tormenting, unsettling feelings on? While I can generally expect a downer after having a great time, it also seems to go in cycles. Combined, this can throw off expectation. The other possibility is that I'm just losing control more as time goes on. The depression (as it goes untreated) could be getting worse. I have a distinct feeling I'm going to suffer a panic attack someday soon, which will be a clear sign things have gone very, very differently. Then again, I've been talking about me losing control on things I once had since Sophomore year of high school, so who knows. I have to admit, there'd be a bit of comedy (that I couldn't well enough just ignore) if I avoided suicide those many times just to lose control of myself by wearing out depression.

But now I'm just being a downer. They say that there's two parts to therapy - changing the way you think, see things, et cætera, and the chemicals. Well, I know my shit is chemically based by now. Again, such mood swings that are so disturbingly strong are not normal. It's the changing the way I think part that bothers me. For one, I'm pretty sure my thought process and certain ideas and opinions (in relation to depression) are formed by the mental disorder itself. If I can be happy, the depressing is generally miles from my brain (though that might be a polarized effect - when I'm happy, I'm just happy and I'm over the top with it, a result of the fact that when I'm neutral I'm slightly depressed and "tainted" and then everything else from there is just worse; but I may be generalizing so don't take this as necessarily fact).

However - as I've said many, many times - there's a great beauty to the sad, the depressing. I still stand by my belief that pain makes the most beautiful people. To me, we can be breathtaking in anguish. And we cannot forget the amazing delicacy and beauty in recovery. To be allowed past those walls others construct is humbling when we remember just what it means to be allowed to enter those places of another person.

In many other innumerable ways, I find the depressing to be intensely amazing. Sure, too much of such a thing hurts (I've gone over this perilous system a million times in the past, no need for repetition). So, I'll pass on the therapy. Just give me something to fix this imbalance. I suppose it's void, however, since I'm likely never to seek treatment. Once you get past that hump around Sophomore to Junior year (those with this know what I'm talking about), it's easy to deal with for the most part there on out.

Gah, I'd really like to be in bed now...it's 4:43. So, while I was running to grab food as quick as I could for dinner, I stopped by the grill for pizza (bad choice, but oh well). As I was sitting, eating, this guy (I think) was looking at me. I just remember I made eye contact, it seemed I might know him, so I nodded as acknowledgement just in case. He nodded back and said, "They're not that bad." He was regarding my Black Sabbath t-shirt. "I've been getting into them lately, listening off of YouTube, you know; they're pretty good. I like Paranoid, and Sabbath Bloody Sabbath." Admittedly, it sounded so damn weird the way he said it, like they were a new band or something. But perhaps I'm biased, since I happen to think that Black Sabbath happens to sound downright Godly.

Now, I'm absolutely awkward socially and this is the most apparent in people I don't know extremely well. So, I nod, say that's cool, keep nodding, not sure what else to say. He nods, then kinda turns away and waves his hand in a dismissive fashion while saying, "Yeah." It basically looked like he wasn't sure what to say as well and then decided that that's all he could say and was confirming that this was, indeed, a good moment to just stop talking. Totally fair enough.

Then, for a split second, I think, "Wait, was he trying to hit on me?" Now, such random questions tend to pop into my head regularly, largely because I question everything (regardless if it deserves such skepticism or not) anyway. I generally dismiss such thoughts, as I did. But then I saw the guy talking to another guy I recognized who I know is gay but not really involved in the gay/Trans community on campus and not really with much of a gay identity.

So...maybe I wasn't so off after all. Which then makes his shyness just plain cute (but I'm a romantic, so I find any sort of stuff such as this by anyone as cute). He should've just gone for it; you might get a no, but you never know unless you try (alright, I realize I'm a downright hypocrite for saying this, but I'm trying to do better).

I got up to leave shortly afterwards but then The River by Springsteen came on, and I just froze where I was. I have to wonder if it's just nostalgia that makes me so affected by his songs. I literally just stopped. Then again, I was also still tripping off of these odd depression emotions (and drinking soda, laced with sugar, probably helped nothing). In any case, I ended up staying until the song finished.

Now I sleep!

I was going to write, "I'm at that point in my life where I'm just trying to keep breathing." And then I thought of all the things that are coming up and all the things I have yet to do, and I smiled. Yes, right now, I'm trying to just keep breathing, keep sanity, and keep away from any rope, heights, or natural gas. But hey - nothing I haven't done before. It's gonna be a good week. I'll damn well make sure it is.

I didn't think I was going to talk about it, but it seems I will.

I came home today, to sweet old Illinois. Far too much homework for me to want to think about, plus parents who are the embodiment of my own fears. But I really didn't think of that.

As I lay down to sleep the night before, running off of 48 hours that I'd been up, I rested contently. Going home.

As I walked down Albany airport, things running as usual and in an environment that I knew well, I had a gnawing at my stomach. For whatever reason, I was scared.

And as I walked through that airport in Jersey, having completed my first of two flights, I felt alone. Like I was watching life, privy to see but not partake in.

It wasn't like normal. It wasn't the burning, throbbing, bittersweet yearn of depression. It wasn't the violent shriek of my nerves when mired in a state of deep depression. Nor was it the enjoyable type, where watching is enough, where it seems I get to see the beauty of life itself in comparison and contrast to what awfulness is possible. It was just...empty. Like I was being kept from something I once had.

There wasn't the past or the future on my mind (odd for me). It was all right there - I just felt alone. It actually wasn't even empty. Empty is when you don't feel a want for anything. There's no desire. When I felt alone, I didn't like it. Didn't hate it because I wasn't angry. I just wanted to fix it. I wanted to reach out, to become a part of those I saw passing by.

I don't really know what it means, but it's not like anything I've ever had before.

(Thanks to escapist for the pic.)

This doesn't seem even remotely difficult to me.

It's late, sugar isn't helping, and I'm slightly depressed. Can I watch The Exorcist right now instead of doing hw?

Me in a nutshell
---
There was one time I was talking with my mother and she was listing off which girls of certain races (in some instances, religions) she would love if I went out with (because this is the type of stuff she does). Either myself or my brother asked about if I went out with Muslim girl. My mother's response was, "No, never. Those people are crazy."

My brother and I are confused.

Actually, to this day, I'm still confused. Now, I know my mother is racist. On multiple accounts, actually. However, while she will wax eloquently often enough on certain fortunate enough souls, usually follows of Islam (or, in her vast understanding, the entirety of the Middle East) are not targets.

Also, I know my mother is capable of decent rational thought. She can exercise that, I swear. Which is why my brain is literally unable to compute this situation. I mean - it just does not logically make sense. As a rational and thinking animal...how do you possibly come up with this? Surely you can't possibly think that a few extremists constitutes a full people, right?? And, further, if I were dating a Muslim, they'd probably be raised in America, right (if you can't get over the concept of the entire Middle East does not equal people of insanity)??

And, yes, I understand that some people don't actually constantly apply reason and logic to their daily actions and thinking and their actions cannot be expected to make sense - but, but - I do. And I cannot understand how you can honestly believe that they're "crazy" without your brain imploding. Yes, illogical thought does that!
---
     "You stopped me because you were so empty, like a cavern impeding in upon itself, and you were so stark a testament of the depth that life was willing to go."
     She looked up at me, then quickly back at her right hand, using the left to push her glasses back up her nose.
     "But shouldn't I be happy?"
     I laughed. "Yes. The greatest part is healing. I just want to be there, though - from the beginning. I want to see you at your most breathtaking and awing."
---
We, as a society, attach such significance to doing what's right and being an upstanding person. Which, to an extent, I find kinda funny. Because we only do it because so many people just never bother.

Despite all the temptation, humans remain flexible and completely controllable creatures. The most fascinating thing about being human is that once you gain awareness of yourself, you can do just about anything with yourself.

Doing what's right doesn't take much. It might take practice (many years of perfecting), but doing the right thing just once takes no effort but deciding to do it.

The change starts with you, and only you can do it.
---
Got back from the Translating Identities Conference 2 days ago, a conference specifically for Trans issues. It was rather amazing, though I'm drained.

And, in a bit of a related fashion, a girl in a formal suit is to die for.
---
The crazed pacing
With the racing placement
Of a pulsing amazement
That this time may hold attainment
Is a rare occasion
When you've forsaken placin'
Yourself in the line of venture
Yet the stubs are entered
You deftly laugh despite the uncertain pressure
Yet know indefinitely that any quip she mentions
Will attain such frank attention
Your wish for a current pension
Is suspended - ended?
Well, at least for this present session
Pretention suspended
Too nervous anyway for the mask to question
Every aspect of this willed convention
Still concerned that initial intentions
Will change in less time than the last impression
The seats filled empty 'cept the last couple to enter
Your eyes are forward, but your mind is centered
The entire flick upon whether
You should take her hand or wait your measure
You leave the way you entered
Hold the door for her, yet in the car still feel the stressors
Now your hands are shaking
Your mind is racing
To say some bit of conversation
Now her house you're facing
Walk the walkway, bracing
In the end - you're wondering what's been through her mind already

I thought I understood rhyme; Rakim laughs at me.
---
I can understand if you dislike school, but if you're still asking what's the point by around my age, I'm going to start worrying about you (in a non-loving manner). I can understand if you might question people's assumptions on its necessity for you to do well in life, I can understand if you question how they teach it or the system or what they focus too much on and not enough on, etc. but if you honestly don't think there isn't a merit to much of what they teach you...? History is important - if I need to invoke the cliché old saying or have to actually explain why this is so to you, I've lost all respect for you (it's harsh and I'm almost always never firm one way or the other - that should tell you something).
---
I think that wanting - no, needing - to create art and being unable to do so in at least an adequate fashion is more cruel a suffering than 19 (going on 20) years of depression.
---
     Jonathan looked out the window of the moving bus, avoiding focusing on the kids in his background. He'd let Kaz handle that.
     It seemed that's what Kaz had always been better that. Not that he'd stoop to their level, consider himself an equal amongst those dwarf demons. Jonathan wouldn't have been able to tolerate him otherwise. Rather, Kaz knew how to deal with it all, the crushing weight of the raining children this world seemed intent on pouring out. He might be a fan of contraception just for this reason, but his liberal ideals kept him from supporting this possible cure.
     No matter what, Jonathan would probably always respect Kaz for that.
     He watched the local elementary school rise over the hill they were driving up. Jonathan stumbled (while standing in place), completely shocked.
     "Kaz! What are you doing?" he shouted, turning towards his partner. "We stole this bus from that school! We're gonna get caught!"
     Kaz didn't look in his direction for a moment, his eyes intently upon the road. "Relax," he told Jonathan, his voice fixed and transposed.
     Despite this, Jonathan looked like he was about to tear out his hair (his lifelong commitment to growing his beard, however, may have caused him to only rip the hair from the scalp).
     His eyes still fixed on the road, Kaz sighed at his partner's rigid frame. "I checked Mapquest before I stole this. We ought to go back this way to get there. We'll be fine. We're in a bus. No one can stop us now."
     Jonathan's arms slumped. He went to the front seat that didn't have a cretin sitting in it and leaned his head against the window. Someone had stuck their gum into a wedge in the window, another had drawn with a permanent marker on the metal below the window frame. Jonathan shook his head, bitter at the waste of opportunity they were given.
     He breathed heavily, fogging up the window. Kaz was right (as he always was). He took comfort in the murky white he had made the window, a heterogenous mix.

     The precise cleanliness of it was what made it off putting. They said it was so that you wouldn't get sick. The instruments. They'd clean the instruments. Syringes, the trays. He wouldn't be surprised to learn they wiped the pills clean with a cloth, each one individually.
     It's irritating. Dear God - it...is...irritating. That damn squeaking. He'd ask them to stop and they just keep doing it. Oh, it's not that bad - like Hell if you know if it's that bad! It's 'cause they polish those damn floors all the time, always mopping, always waxing. The drone of monotonous squeaking, all day - by the nurses and the doctors. And, if you spend enough time in the place, they convince the patients they should wear their damn rubber shoes as well; and then they squeak.
     The glass was shiny, consistently clear and without smudge. They held that needle over him just to make him squirm, he was sure. "It's for your health." Yeah right.
     He'd sit there at night, unceasingly searching the ceiling for dirt, a cobweb maybe - anything. He had found some, once. In a corner, somewhere.
     It was supposed to kill germs. It was mandatory. "I don't want it!" They tied him down. There wasn't going to be a choice.
     Ohh, God, did it feel so good. He had rubbed it all over him. In a corner, tucked away. Jimmy had asked what he had, had asked, had asked. Full moon, he remembered. Shining so bright. By the pale moonlight he took it out from under the pillow where had hidden it. So refreshing, so nice. Mold, beautiful mold, all over.
     The door had busted open so loud. But he didn't notice. No, not until they grabbed him, forced him down. He tried to eat it, embody it. He'd be different than all of them; he'd have mold in his belly.
     He winced as the needle broke the skin. Bye-bye germs.

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.