Working philosophy

originally written 11.10.09

My working philosophy was formed over almost a decade of employment experience. My entry into the workforce began during the formative years of my life when at 15. The bulk of my time was spent toiling in the food and retail industries, but over time, the lessons I’ve learned have proven to be of immeasurable value in all my endeavors.

The following two habits make up the core of my philosophy as principles that I continuously strive to implement in my actions and behavior.

When working, I apply all of my attention and mental faculties towards the task at hand, no matter how trivial it may seem. I take pride in the quality of my output and knowing that I’ve given it my all. In addition, I learned early on that the best method for passing the time at work, as well as a means of avoiding the boredom that often accompanies work of a less than challenging nature, is to focus all of my energy on the task itself. In essence, I lose myself in the work and earn both pride and fulfillment from the fruits of my efforts. I’ve experienced many positive consequences of this work habit including excellent grades, a capacity to take on an increased workload from my job and school, the notice of my superiors and professors and, most importantly, I now find work enjoyable.

The next principle of my philosophy is less like a habit and is, instead, more of an overall outlook. I feel it is absolutely essential to always seek out ways to better my skills and abilities. I don’t believe in resting on one’s laurels and allowing skills to stagnate. Spending leisure time learning new skills and enhancing old ones takes considerable effort. The difficulty of doing so is a testament to the high value of the results, which immediately dispel the lingering disappointment of previous failures. 

Middle class American life has changed so much over the last thirty years....

originally written: 12.25.11

Middle class American life has changed so much over the last thirty years as we Millenials came of age. Sure, the steady march of technology towards increasingly sophisticated contraptions had already been well underway during these years but always at a slow enough pace to remain largely unnoticed. Over the last century electronic advancements progressed continuously forward but most often at a snails pace.

For years families would gather in front of their one black and white 15 inch telly to joyously bask in the electric glow. It was a simpler time, when people found pure fulfillment in their three meager channels and tiny TV screen, seemingly unfazed by the regular spots of blurriness that crop up nor the overtly tangible lack of humanity unavoidably cut off along with the color. 

It’s hard to imagine that any modern man or woman could survive in such an atmosphere without constantly  bemoaning their situation. Just imagine how you’d react if suddenly thrust back to a time before the advent of computers, the internet, cell phones, or big screen TV’s to name a few. Could you successfully make do suddenly cut off from the technology, sheer variety of entertainment programming normally available plus the high standard of quality and sophistication  permeating the modern entertainment industry nearly everyone takes for granted.

If you disagree and think I happen to be overestimating the true effort such an endeavor would in reality be likely to require than I’d suggest you think again. I can honestly say that when you look inward and truly focus on just how intrinsic a role that electronic technology has to some extent played throughout each aspect of your existence, you will be stunned by what you discover.

     

Is this life?

written: 10.12.10

Is this life?

This inability to function as a normal, average human is hangs on my neck like a lead ball and chain. The drugs, when I take them, give me energy and focus, a will to act and interact with others and the world around me, or so I used to think. Now I see this pattern for what it really was: the illusory satisfaction of medicated uppers and downers. This routine of prescribed amphetamines during the day and pills at night to mitigate the effect to get to sleep gave the semblance of normality for a handful of years but sadly no longer. 

The rush of artificial energy the drugs provided to replace my lack of will is now revealed as the unsustainable solution to depression that it always was. At first, when I was just coming out of my deep, black depression a few years ago, the energy and vigor the meds gave was like a lungful of air after drowning in the water of malaise. And for years afterward the effect remained satisfactory, allowing me to attend college and excel in my studies, but now following graduation, it’s no longer enough to keep me integrated into normal life. 

What once gave me the ability to study and work hard, now feels like a scattered, rush of manic energy that keeps me moving but never in a meaningful direction or on a productive path. Before I could study for hours and apply my mental abilities toward school work or job, now it’s like a sheet put over my head, allowing me to exist for a few hours in mindless, purposeless tasks to shroud me from my normal antipathy. For a few precious hours, I feel alive and happy, but once the effect wears off, I’m left in a void of desire, caring for little and unable to feel the contentment of being the rest of the world takes for granted. 

It’s a question of balance. I have no even keel, no natural state of mind. I feel no drive to do, no satisfaction with life to drive me forward. The mental state that allows you to accomplish all the minor tasks that are littered throughout daily life remains ever out of my grasp. I want to be and do and function without having to struggle through the smallest action. How jealous I am to those around me and their unconscious ability to live meaningful existences. To be happy, no matter unthinkingly, is a gift I would do anything to possess. Isolated within the prison of my own social reality, I can only bemoan with self-pity my own selfish ailments. 

All of the other problems that plague other people appear so minute and unworthy. To be able to partake of these trivialities would be a pleasure. For me, these average, banal conflicts represent a state of mind situated frustratingly out of my reach. My own thoughts are confined inward, barely kept under control, constantly analyzing my own life and sensory perceptions to such an extent, that I often yearn for the peaceful, tranquility of a lobotomy. Constantly over-analyzing the minutiae, endlessly poring over meaningless detail, is the prison of my mind. It paralyzes my attention, never letting me lose my strain of thought from moment to moment.

Sleep, when attainable, has become a refuge from the mental barrage, bestowing a blessed period of dreams. Cut off from the waking world, I’m free to wander through the dreamscape unburdened by a broken mind. Upon waking, the experiences that only seconds before were alive with startling vividness, inevitably flow like water through my fingers as dreams always do, but one feeling remains; the memory of being and doing unshackled from my mental bonds. I can just recall the faintest echo of dreaming awareness that for the briefest moment merged with my conscious id as I began to wake. This moment of transition where the sleeping and waking mind converge is surely something all humans experience night after night but never recall. I do though. The barest wisp of this sensation and the fading memory of sweet freedom it brings are too alluring too resist a return visit. So without a second thought I close my eyes and go back to sleep. Sometimes I’ll stay in bed all day and night, getting up only to use the bathroom or migrate to the couch. It becomes difficult to maintain my grasp on time as days go by and the hours start to lose meaning. 

How dangerous is this current mentality where the tiniest satisfaction found in sleep outweighs the total happiness I get from consciousness?  Is this the first step on the path to suicide? Possibly. I still remember those few years where I had some semblance of fulfillment and normality in life and so I know this too shall pass. Holding on to this belief is the most important thing. The all consuming blackness doesn’t last forever, even when it feels like it will. I’ve experienced this firsthand and the knowledge will sustain me now. 

How do you make the logical leap of faith the believe...?

written: 6.7.10

How do you make the logical leap of faith to believe in things not based on some kind of empirical evidence. For example, we accept the existence of microscopic organisms that attack our bodies even though we could never scientifically prove it ourselves.  We put stock in the words of our doctors and the science behind it because we can at least conceptualize, and thus accept, that it was derived from provable experiments and is worthy of belief. So we fill the prescriptions prescribed by our doctors and generally give the matter little more thought than that. But this condition cannot be applied in the case of religion, we have no conception of how the spiritual occurs and simply must trust that it is the truth.

The question is then whether or not enough existence exists to convince yourself that any such religious phenomena exist. We merge belief in the spiritual (which has little or no empirical foundations) with our individual perception of reality. This is how we integrate the things we know for a fact, like how sponges are made to be absorbent, with the things we believe but have no conception of how or why.

Everyone who truly believes in their religion should ask themselves why exactly that is. What is it that assures you this is the truth? Just try and think about it. Mentally go over the reasons you believe in your head. Is it because it is what your family believes and has passed on to you? Is the belief of people you respect and trust a factor in your decision to believe?

Such questions aren’t intended to make you doubt the veracity of your values and beliefs, but merely to try and understand exactly why it is you believe in them. There are logical reasons for believing in anything but that doesn’t mean one should remain ignorant of them as they relate to their lives specifically.     

The prodigal son returns from his adventures in Orlando

originally written 8.10.05

Status: The prodigal son returns from his adventures in Orlando to an empty house and sadly little applause. Unless of course I count the loud overjoyed barking of a surprising spry ten year old lapdog who likes to greet every person he meets with the same maniacal fervor. Coming home was like slipping on old glove. I’m back in my safe zone and no worse the wear. Orlando was just about what I expected it would be. A change of scenery before school starts. Seth and I arrived to some fanfare courtesy of Joel and Nick. They seemed more content with life in Orlando than when Seth and I had visited a few months back. I really believe that if Nick is able to find a meaningful relationship despite his own boorish and unsure attempts at wooing, than there is hope for the worst of us. I’m rooting for him, but I don’t think I’ll hold my breath. I myself happen to be going through something of a dry spell. As much as I would enjoy a steady fuck I’m almost positive that I won’t be happy settling for a girl that cares solely about finding the next party and drinking till she passes out.

I somehow managed to misinterpret the intentions of the one girl I’ve met who shared my enjoyment of reading for pleasure. I really thought she perfect. She wasn’t beautiful but I found her attractive. I really liked speaking to her about some of my favorite authors and discovering she too had an affinity for them. I’m assuming it was a lack of attraction on my part that kept her uninterested. I just wished she could have been honest and confessed what it was she found unattractive. I wanted to be able to ask her questions about the way I acted so I could later analyze and put to good use on the next girl I met and liked. Most girls don’t share any of my interests so it was refreshing and gave me hope for the future.

Since then I’ve only briefly spent time a girl I was sure I felt an attraction too. The experience triggered many memories of almost exact occurrences that have happened to me. I met her at a small gathering and immediately felt the raw attraction she felt for me. It was an intoxicatingly experience. It was apparent that she had taken a shine to me but she was a little younger and I had decided not to involve myself with anyone I met at the party hoping to circumvent the possible headache that occurs when dating an underage girl. There are more than enough girls I find aesthetically pleasing. Her persistence in getting to know me took me by complete surprise.

A few years back I had decided that it was better to wait and be sure that I really like the girl and am not just possessed of a momentary infatuation. Ending a relationship is not fun. I have quite a few memories of myself not only losing interest but experiencing an emotion that is best described as a growing sensation of emptiness and later anger. When I was younger I was a bit harsh with a few girls. In my depression I lashed out verbally and said things that ruined the relationship completely. I have never been successful making it up to the girl. (Glad that I now remember those girls) To get back on topic I believe my attraction for the girl I had met at the party was only heightened when I realized that she really liked me. I’m sure once she set her eyes on me she was ruined for any other guy.

Getting back on topic, once I was able to spend some time alone to get better acquainted  I quickly ascertained her mental state to be that of a err sixteen  that  there was no bullshit, no dancing around the subject, and no time for me to decide that I wanted to kiss her. She was definitely one of the most attractive women that I have had the privilege of getting to know. I didn’t think the fact that she was sixteen would make a difference. However the more I tried to engage her in conversation the more obvious it became that drinking and partying were all she was concerned with.

Is this the end?

Originally written 9.1.11

Is this the end? I don’t know. Everyday my outlook gets bleaker and bleaker. The meds no longer have enough of an effect to keep me in a good state of mind, let alone a normal, functioning adult. Having suffered with mental illness from the time of a child, I’ve been subjected to the full assortment of pharmacological remedies. Going from doctor to doctor in search of a cure to my mental malady made switching medications something of a regular occurrence. Each psychiatrist seemingly had their own go-to drug for success which they invariably ended up prescribing for their patients. That these MD’s also happened to be receiving large kickbacks from the pharmaceutical companies surely had nothing to do with the preference for one drug over another. Right?

While I ate at this buffet of medication for a large chunk of my youth I think it’d be more prudent to begin at my current predicament with a little relevant history sprinkled in for perspective.  Considering the pivotal role that medical drugs have played in my past and present mental health, it’s a good place to start.

Following many short stints on the various drugs popularly prescribed for depression and anxiety, I eventually found success with Effexor. During the first years of use, I enjoyed the full range of positive effects it had to offer. My mood was lifted, anxiety and depressive thoughts receded, and perhaps most importantly it supplied a sorely lacking desire to engage with other people and join society. During the height of its effectiveness I was able to lead a functional productive life. Since it’s often difficult for me to reminisce on the good experiences in my past minus the bad, I tend to forget how great things were during this period. With the success of Effexor at keeping my depression in check in addition to providing those behavioral aspects missing from my psyche, I was free to partake of the (relatively) normal existence that had always been so elusive until then. Naturally, it was only a matter of time before my mental health issues resurfaced anew.

Effexor, which in the beginning had had a noticeable effect on my mood, soon began to lose its potency as my body built up a tolerance to its presence. Currently, it has no overt impact on my mood but rather serves to keep me on an even keel. Or at least that’s the theory, because the truth is that Effexor turned out to have such severe withdrawal symptoms that it’s essentially impossible to get off of.

 I once attempted to wean myself off of it in favor of more proactive medication; but this action quickly gave rise to a severe depression blacker than I could have imagined. What I remember most acutely from this terrible time was being incapable of diverting my mind, for even an instant, away from the misery I was experiencing. Television, reading, video games and all the other menial activities that once counted among my leisure time activities could in no way capture my focus.

All the various activities that fill a person’s waking time, those menial everyday tasks done so frequently that you’re no longer even conscious of them. It’s second nature to brush your teeth, engage in conversation or enjoy a movie but each of these examples serve as a mechanism for passing time. They give the mind something to latch itself onto, even if only at a near unconscious level, and thereby distort our awareness from moment to moment. Without the ability to engage my attention in mundane, everyday activities made it impossible to escape from under the mountain of misery that was my regular mindset. To be trapped in the constant awareness of the moment, without the illusion of time quickly speeding by, is an agonizing experience.

It wasn't supposed to be like this

Originally written: Dec. 20, 2011

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. At least, I never imagined myself in such a bleak existence. Wait a minute, there’s no way that’s true. My subconscious must have worked overtime eradicating any last vestige still clinging to the surface of my mind likely to shine any light my prior predicament.

In all honesty, I find myself genuinely staggered by the relative, and generally unacknowledged, ease with which I’ve been able to suppress memories during this time. It’s only when I close my eyes and consciously peel back the extensive layers that normally serve as a protective barrier against any bitter recollections. Before I go any further down this rabbit hole, I should probably go back to the beginning and focus on getting that on paper before anything else.

The date as I write this is December 19, 2011. This past year marked my 27^th birthday, and while technically speaking I’m still considered something of a young man (at least I hope so) it’s a struggle not to feel as though the pinnacle of my life has already come and gone. I’ve no doubt it’s a fairly common state of mind for anyone over the age of 21, but it’s a negative mindset that’s been particularly vexing for me during my fight against depression. The sheer number of days I’ve lost paralyzed in a state of mental apathy are too numerous to spend a single instant dwelling on, lest I unbalance my already precarious emotional equilibrium.

For as far back as I can remember, I’ve always recognized that there was something different about my thought processes. This isn’t to say that as a youngster I experienced any full blown outbreaks of anxiety or depression but rather that from the very moment I became conceptually aware of myself as an individual I noticed I was different from my peers.

I don’t mean any kind of difference that was overtly apparent as an obvious departure from the commonly accepted kindergartner but instead something far more subtle. The trait I soon felt absent from the other kids my age was essentially an overactive sense of empathy. That describes my feeling in the most simplified of terms and exactly how I perceived the notion at the time. In practical terms this aspect of my personality made me far more vulnerable on an emotional level. My feelings seemed to be in a constant state of turmoil, perched on the absolute edge of an abyss that required only the slightest nudge to topple forward and transform me into a state of either inconsolable rage or tearful sadness.