27.4.05

Whatever Happened to Happiness?

from prozactruth.com

This is a question which has been asked with some desperation over the last fifty years, with good reason. As one looks about the society, one sees fewer and fewer instances of people genuinely happy about their lives. Far more frequently, one finds the miserable office-worker who finds his job a drudge, his home life tedious and his overall life pointless.
In today's society, a life all-too-often goes this way: A child grows up with parents who argue frequently, fall out of love, often cheat on each other, and frequently divorce before the child is grown. Parents also drink, often to excess, and often take drugs as well, either legally or "recreationally."
While all this is going on at home, it's certainly no better for the child at school. Due to the badly-decayed state of education, the child is not learning, despite his or her education being heavily enforced and oftentimes legally drugged. And it becomes quickly obvious that there is nowhere he or she can turn to for help, as the teachers, many desperate to help their failing students, are yet operating in a faulty system and can find no solutions themselves . The teachers send the child to a school psychologist whom, the child quickly learns, has even fewer answers except prescribed drugs for learning "disorders".
Children and their peers often turn to illegal drugs to escape the misery that their lives have soon become. Thanks to portrayals of drug users and drug dealers as heroes in films and television, music that continually extols the virtues of drugs, and peer pressure as well, this is an all-too-easy route to take. And why not? Life seems pretty meaningless, anyway. Then, some die before they're grown. Some become hopelessly addicted and turn to criminality or prostitution to support their habits. Yet others manage to cope, and a lucky few manage to stay away from drugs altogether.
As a child hits puberty, he or she is overwhelmed by wildly new emotions and sensations. They are told by psychologists that these emotions are totally natural, and engaging in them is even more natural. They are surrounded by a media practically screaming at them to be promiscuous, in magazines, music, television and films. They have witnessed adults, perhaps even their own parents, with sloppy sexual values. Their peers (many times lying) are bragging of plentiful sexual conquests. The pressure to engage in sexual activity is overwhelming, and most give into it, even when, despite all posturing and boasting to the contrary, many of them are secretly quite frightened.
For other children the discovery of sex, disgustingly, will be at the hands of their own siblings and parents. This gives them further motivation to take drugs, engage in promiscuous sex (as they're already degraded, what does it matter), or completely withdraw from sex and never be able to take pleasure in it at all.
From this decaying platform, our child then launches into adulthood, confused, dismayed, and entering a world that seems to have little hope and seems to be gathering its last dying breath.
Overall, on a planet-wide scale, the above daily occurrences result in rising criminality, the spread of disease, mental illness, political unrest, war, and the host of other problems currently plaguing humanity. And last but certainly not least, they result in the farthest thing from happiness possible.

What happened?

For those of us a generation ahead of the current one, we can remember many of our parents and grandparents talking about "how it used to be." Marriages lasted longer. Families stayed together. Drug use was by a few desperate souls who you only heard about, never saw, and many people never even heard about it. Criminality, although present, was certainly not frequent. Sexual perversion was infrequent enough that, when it reared its ugly head, it was truly a shock.
Also, if you were ever able to talk to someone who was genuinely from "the good old days", you would find out something very interesting: Happiness was actually a known commodity sixty or so years back. Somewhere along the line, it all seemed to disappear.
As one examines the society, it can easily be seen, as easily as the lack of happiness, the lack of morality. The concepts of right and wrong seem to have all but disappeared and been painted a very interesting shade of gray (or, more appropriately, black). Could it be the two -- the lack of happiness and the lack of morality -- are connected?
Before we completely answer that question, let's see if we can find out what happened to morality.
First, you must realize (or hypothesize with us, if you will) that nothing ever happens by itself. Someone causes everything that happens. Given that, someone must have seen to the disappearance of morals. Could this be?
The first appearance of the vilification of morals is in 1867 with the publication of Das Kapital, by Karl Marx, the source of modern Communism. In this work, Marx bitterly railed against morality, claiming that morality was false and only existed to serve the classes that wielded it. His reasoning for this has been debated at length; Perhaps he was putting forth that man is natively immoral and therefore morals are simply an unnecessary addition to his "native state", or he may have been simply attempting to make it possible for Communist revolutionaries to proceed in an amoral fashion and therefore expediently. In any case, adherents to pure Communism were the first to claim that morals were evil and stood in the way of humanity's progress.
Communism did not really take hold in a broad way until the Russian Revolution of 1917. The first Communist nation did much to advance what was never labeled as a political ideology but what probably should have been: Psychiatry. There were a number of U.S. psychiatrists who studied in Russia after the formation of the Communist state and brought Russian psychiatry to the U.S., where it was then taught and spread.
Did psychiatry then carry Communist ideology into Democratic society? It sounds like a paranoid question. But the facts speak for themselves.
On October 29, 1945, a few months after the conclusion of World War II, an address was given in Washington, D.C. to a gathering of psychiatrists by G. Brock Chisholm, Canadian psychiatrist. Chisholm was a top leader in the field, who later went on to found the precursor to the World Health Organization and later presided over the World Federation for Mental Health. When he spoke, people in his field listened, to say the least. And in this case, it later became very evident that they were listening and listening well.
Chisholm's lecture began innocuously enough, lamenting the tragedy of war and pointing out that mankind could not seem to keep from having wars. That was true enough. He then went into a definition of "maturity", and claimed that most of humanity was not capable of such maturity. This definition was probably correct -- in part, it was "a quality of personality that is made up of a number of elements. It is stick-to-it-iveness, the ability to stick to a job, to work on it, and to struggle through until it is finished, or until one has given all one has in the endeavor."
But then Chisholm's speech took a shocking turn as he detailed what he considered to be at the root of humankind's warring nature and the sole block to its lack of "maturity." At this point, it is best to quote Dr. Chisholm directly:
"What basic psychological distortion can be found in every civilization of which we know anything? It must be a force which discourages the ability to see and acknowledge patent facts, which prevents the rational use of intelligence, which teaches or encourages the ability to dissociate and to believe contrary to and in spite of clear evidence, which produces inferiority, guilt and fear, which makes controlling other peoples' personal behavior emotionally necessary, which encourages prejudice and the inability to see, understand and sympathize with other peoples' points of view. Is there any force so potent and so persuasive that it can do all these things in all civilizations? There is -- just one. The only lowest common denominator of all civilizations and the only psychological force capable of producing these perversions is morality, the concept of right and wrong, the poison long ago described and warned against as 'the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of knowledge of good and evil.'"
He went on to expand on these concepts, but the above is sufficient enough to impart to the reader the brutality with which Chisholm was attacking morality and morals, the very thing which had held civilized man together for some five thousand years, had given him what happiness he had been able to find, and had kept his hope alive.
Were Chisholm's concepts taken to heart and followed? History provides the answer.
The new decade of the fifties brought psychiatry to an all-time high. Psychoanalysis became a fad amongst the affluent and amongst prominent artists, a number of which were even institutionalized. It began reaching all levels of society. It was promoted, even jocularly, through all forms of media.
What happened then? Morality began to falter. Drug use began to rise. The American films Rebel Without a Cause and The Blackboard Jungle, both released midway through the decade, show the abject confusion and resulting delinquency and alcoholism becoming prevalent in society, due largely to the moral questions being asked by youth -- and not answered.
Then came the sixties. In 1964, a new drug called Lysergic Acid Diethylamide, better known as LSD, began leaking into youth culture. The drug had been developed as a mind-control tool by psychiatry, and there is evidence it was psychiatry itself who pushed it broadly out into the world. For example, one of LSD's most vocal and public proponents, Dr. Timothy Leary, was a Harvard-trained psychiatrist. Another psychiatrist, Dr. Louis Jolyon "Jolly" West, who had been heavily involved with CIA mind-control drug experiments, was, at the height of the "Hippie" movement in 1967, right at the core of it at Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco experimenting on the local populous with LSD and even more insidious drugs.
It can certainly be said that the spread of heavy drug-use, especially LSD, helped give morality the final push over the cliff it experienced by the close of the sixties.
From that point, morality never recovered. The seventies brought the Disco Era with whole new classes of wide-spread drug use and promiscuity and one-night stands being the order of the day. This continued into the eighties. The late eighties and early nineties brought on "raves", taking sexuality and drug use to even greater heights. And it has all continued to get worse, not better.
Yes, the evidence is overwhelmingly obvious that the decline in morality is directly linked to the decline in happiness.

23.4.05

old friends and new enemies, life - phillisophical obscurity

http://methangel.blogspot.com/2005/02/old-friends-and-old-enemies-best-kind.html
This was something Rene'e wrote that I posted on this blog awhile ago. Without reading it first. I came across it on her own blog on myspace.com and finally sat down to read the thing. Here is my reply as I posted it, which I believe she has now deleted.

a late night constructive critic (key word - constructive)

Wow, this hurt my brain. I got the point you were going for but most of your sentences come to dead ends, mostly because you are using the wrong words, I understand that you were just trying to transfer abstract thoughts and unformed theories onto paper but this could use a whole lot of revision. When you read it as a whole it hardly makes any sense at all, you are write in circles. I think you believed you were touching on a few different topics and that is where the major problem is, when you thought you were going off topic you sort of stopped short but didn't edit out any of the fragments, so the whole piece just looks like you were searching for more ways to elaborate on the one topic which just comes off as being redundant. You don't draw any conclusions, and towards the end you get a bit too descriptive concerning the time/life theory, once again, writing in circles. There are some interesting ideas there but it feels like you just got tired of thinking so you copped out, instead of developing them further. In the end you just settle for stating the obvious, repeating a point that you had already established, and quite clearly at that. The wording is contrite at best, your voice is there but it is so cluttered. I can tell you were having difficulty finding the right words to capture your ideas and I found you were using words that didn't quite fit in the context. You have a tendency to want to use, for lack of a better term, 'fancy' words where they aren't really necessary. I suggest you read more books concerning the topics you were exploring, sort of as a means to expand your vocabulary and your perception. I know how proud you are of this piece and you should be, proud of the ideas, but the work wants revision, and I believe it deserves it as well.

Perhaps I was a bit harsh but the truth is seldom a painless experience, as I trust she has learned by now, I could be wrong though. I think she is not speaking to me now, and only time will tell if this lasts longer than the last time she wasn't speaking to me. Maybe my comment wasn't the only thing that caused this rift, I haven't been able to get a hold of her so I can't be sure. I wish I could talk to her, to sort this out.

On the outside of a birthday party for a member of your own family.

Occasionally a voice will stand out, but mostly words and voices mesh into an unintelligible and idiosyncratic hum. Then they sing, it is so strange to be outside all of this, I don't think I've ever heard the birthday song sung this way before. The song is so familiar, I've sung it a thousand times, but this time it seems alien. Is it because I cannot see the faces of the singers, or because I'm not singing myself? It is the only genuine thing to come of all this, the rest, the laughter and conversation, sound so insincere. I can see their faces in my mind. I recognize their voices, know their names by their laugh. There must be a dozen different conversations, I could pick up on one but it is more agreeable to just listen to the murmurs of their voices with the music under laid - or overlaid, I cannot tell - and the voices of the children all sound the same, this way I am not caught up in trivial grievances and gossip. I wonder, from this distance it sounds like a happy gathering, but are they, too, consumed with apathy. Are they truly celebrating life, the day of the child's birth, or are they just going through the motions. Doing something they feel obligated to do, using it as an excuse to break up the monotonous procession of days and tasks. But are they truly free from that cycle or just distracted from it? Has any of them once stopped today to think of why they are here? Is it to celebrate the birth of this child? No, that is merely a pretense, a reason to have a barbeque and consume excessive amounts of alcohol and enjoy the company of friends and family. And on a deeper level, satisfy man's need to be in contact with other human beings, ease the fear of being alone. And who can blame them? It is an illusion I would create myself if I could. I wonder if any of this really feels new to any of them, have they even realized that another year has passed? Do they regret not being aware of, or appreciating it, or do they even realize what they've done? I'm sitting here, not because I am ill and unable to go, because I could see no reason to go, I love the birthday girl, but I would not be at that party, even if I were standing in the midst of it. I would not enjoy the company, I wonder if any of those in attendance actually do. No, I do not go because I do not buy into the hypocrisy of birthday parties, because it would make me sick to witness these people seemingly put aside their petty differences to celebrate the birth of someone who - in all honesty, considering present circumstances - would probably have been better off not being born at all. It sickens me to think of these people, with contempt for each other hidden beneath smiling faces, gathered to enact a ritual that holds no meaning to them, paying lip-service to some ancient tradition known as family. Just another day in their petty lives, the same as yesterday, smiling for the camera, smiling for the kids, teaching them that wearing a mask is the only acceptable way to live. No, I do not want to wear my mask today.

Something justly deserved

I'm not very good at social commentaries, not because I don't have an opinion, but because I cannot find the right way to voice it. At least, not without sounding like a fool, or worse, ingnorant, even worse, an adolescent. Therefore I don't like to comment on world events and such, which is actually kind of backwards nowadays, when teenagers are more liberated and outspoken. Now if I don't voice an opinion, however idiotic, unformed and uninformed it may be, I am giving the youth of today a bad name and ruining all of the progress they've made so far. While I would be the first one to tell you that the youth of today are highly intelligent, well informed individuals (at least compared to the youth of years before) when you see the kind of individuals we allow to represent ourselves, (I mean, come on, P. Diddy?) the youth of today, as a people, are a generation of sheep, wooly and accommodating, comprised of an wide array of stereotypes and few genuine individuals. I know P. Diddy and those others had nothing but good intentions and I have to admire their approach and the progress they made but I'm not interested in making the youth of today socially and politically aware, although I agree it is much needed, others are doing quite well at that. I am interested in the liberation of the individual, shearing them of social stereotypes and forced beliefs. Then basking in the glorious silence as that new found individual realizes they don't really have an opinion of their own, only the biased interpretations of their elders, wrapped in colorful packages to distract them from what they inevitably must see. I have always enjoyed the term 'rat race' it makes me think of the original doctor doolittle movie when doolittle is complaining about man's tendency to compare human traits behavior to animals, like 'as fat as a pig' or 'as stubborn as an ass'. I never noticed in rats the tendency for endless, self-defeating pursuit, as the answers.com definition states, no that is a inescapably human trait. So our new found individual see's the 'human race', in all it's glory, and is finally free of it, free to form whatever opinion they may, without fear of social retribution. For if one principal holds true in society today it is revenge.And that is my social comment.

22.4.05

the song made me do it

I used to dream of being a singer, sometimes I remember the feeling I got
when I sang. I loved it, I still do, but now it feels bittersweet, singing other
peoples songs, I feel like I have no voice of my own. I think my new favorite
songs are Everybody's Got To Learn Sometimes by Beck from The Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which also happens to be my new favorite
movie, and Breathe by Anna Nalick, that song describes my life perfectly at
the moment and the Beck song sort of gives me hope. There are certain songs
that I can listen to over and over again. I do that when I'm writing sometimes,
when a song gives me a feeling, it's hard to describe, I just push repeat and
listen to it again and again until the feeling has passed. I've listened to the
same song for over an hour once, Bob Dylan's Buckets of Rain and the
Smashing Pumpkins' For Martha, also Ben Folds' Fred Jones Part 2. I can listen
to the moonlight sonata by Beethoven for hours on end.
I've spent most of my life avoiding regret, thinking I've moved on when really all
I've done is prolong the inevitable, a complete mental breakdown. No one
realizes just how much I control myself, I desperatly need to distance myself
from these people that I feel I need the approval of. 184, that's how much I
weigh, it's gone up in the past months, I've been going downhill for awhile. I
try remember when I started hating myself, when I stopped wearing shorts,
when I stopped playing, when I stopped singing. It was before I moved to Hilo,
I remember in sixth grade I was starting to let myself go, I dressed like a slut
back then, but I didn't care, it got me attention. I remember going from just
enough to cup in my hands to having B- cups, I could borrow my mother's
clothes. Then I started to stretch them out, I was a C, then a D, then finally
DD, what I am now. I think back on how naive I was, wanting bigger breasts,
how silly. I always liked boys, I don't remember a time in my life where sex
hadn't played a part. I almost lost my virginity when I was eleven or so, it was
after I was almost kidnapped so I might have been twelve, I was scared, but I
still felt pleasure. I don't know when I stopped enjoying being touched, I have
sex now and I don't feel anything, I think it's because I don't allow myself to
feel anything but why? Sure the guys I've been with haven't helped, but I don't
have any real expectations there. What I don't understand is why I still do it
when I don't get anything from it. I'm just hell bent on self destruction I
suppose. I've experimented, before I forgot how to feel, it was fine I suppose,
and I realize I have some conspicously 'lesbian' tendencies. I don't care if
people think that, I just say what I told my lesbian roommate in the psych
ward "I'm strictly dick, but I can appreciate." I think, sometimes, that I would
have made a better man than a woman, but alas, fate had other things in
store. I don't think anything is wrong with my sex drive, just with my choice of
men to have sex with, oh yeah, and that little problem of me being incapable
of feeling anything.

Breathe

I have decided that I am not going insane, no, if the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results then I am not insane. I expect nothing because nothing has changed, and all of this sanity is driving me crazy. I have been consumed by apathy, I truly no longer give a fuck, I only pretend to for my own peace of mind. But what does that matter anyway, I obviously don't hold myself in very high regard. I talk so much about self-sacrifice but what have I sacrificied if there is nothing that I value, nothing that I care about. Perhaps that is why I can let go so easily, because nothing really matters to me. I really don't feel much of anything, perhaps that's what makes me a good actress, I have no soul and yet I am able to convince everyone that I do. I know that is a lie, and it terrifies me how close it is to being true. I don't want to feel, I'm afraid to feel, because I know I will feel regret and what use is that to me. I remember the last time I felt something, the last time my brother hurt me, I was in the shower on my knees crying, crying for god to save me, for someone to help me and show me the way out of this mess I've gotten myself into. I realize no one can do that but myself, but if I were to try then I would have to feel and I would have to face the truth about what I've done, what I've become. My hypocrisy is showing, and I've found it has become difficult to live with myself.

20.4.05

Service to humanity is the best work of life.

So I'm torn, I don't think there are any other words that I hold to be more true. Do I postpone my plans, my life, in order to help my brother. He needs me, probably more than we both will ever know, but what would I have to sacrifice in order to be there for him? Another year or two living this lie I've made for me, another year trapped in circumstances to uncomfortable for me to be able to find myself, who I really am. Another year, trapped with a stubborn alcoholic and an intellectual invalid and their two children. I don't know if it would make things any better, but I don't want to lose my brother. My brother, the terror of my childhood, I'm afraid he won't understand that I need to breathe, I need to be away from family, away from everything I've ever known, I need the chance to try to live on my own, but then he may be the only one who will understand completely, if only I can get him to listen to what I have to say. But what do I have to say anyway, nothing is guaranteed, all I have are silly dreams and plans, but what does life have in store? I can make all the plans I want but there is no way of knowing what will happen while I'm making all these plans. How much of my life have I missed while I was making these plans? It has occured to me that these are supposed to be the good years, and I have wasted them in fantasy. I things don't work out what will I be then? I suppose I could always go to college, I mean it's not like I don't plan to go at all. I wish I didn't feel so lost. I slept for fifteen hours straight, the other day, maybe even sixteen, I think it was the best sleep I ever had. I don't want to wake up, does that mean I'm depressed? I don't want to sleep either but what do I have to stay awake for. I want to help people but it's hard to let go of myself, I'm not ready to give myself to humanity, I'm not ready to make the ultimate sacrifice. Perhaps that is the lesson of this lifetime, hypocrisy and sacrifice. I don't believe in myself anymore, I don't believe in my dreams.

19.4.05

a name

I have decided that there are too many people named Jessica in the world so I am going to change my name. From now on I shall be referred to as Sqwerty Modus Ponens The Anti Anti-Piracy Pirate. Arrgghhh.

6.4.05

lines in the sand

I stopped taking anti-depressants because I don't want my life to be the product of a pill and I guess I'm not depressed anymore which makes me wonder if I ever was, maybe I was just tired of fighting, dying wouldn't be so bad. But I guess I fooled everyone then and I can imagine how angry they were when I seemed fine, all that money for what, nothing. They made no difference anyway, I don't think they do for anyone, not unless you believe they do. I remember sitting there eating chinese food telling him I didn't want to go through my life wondering whether what I was feeling was real or just the medication, he said he was afraid I'd hurt myself, I admit that I am capable of it, I do it everyday. But kill myself, no, I don't want to die anymore, but sometimes I just don't want to live. I guess I'm just a coward, an old teacher of mine told me that suicide was the cowardly thing to do, it's strange how that works. I'm not exactly being brave, not killing myself, but I'm still not living, I'm still not honest, only with myself, and people on the internet, that is cowardly too.

I said I wanted to go to a place where no one knew me, I still do, I want to start new, somewhere I can feel free to become the person who I want to be. I don't want to worry about living with these people, I wonder now, if I was honest with them, if it would make any difference at all or if they would even believe me. It's hard when no one expects anything of you, you are forced to define your own values and too often you slip because there is no one to enforce them, no one to punish you. I suppose you build a stronger character this way, or just go off the deep end.

Everyone needs rules and boundries, but why, what is this compulsion that mankind has to draw lines in the sand, I suppose that is why I love the ocean, all the lines that people draw are washed away eventually. In the sea there is no difference between here and there, water is constantly changing, the same tide you step into today will be stepped in again at some far corner of the world, and you will never know. The ocean has a dangerous hold on me, it calls to me, I cannot describe the strange pull I feel when I am near the ocean, it has been more of a mother to me than the woman who gave birth to me and torments me to this day. When I was a child I could lie awake at night and feel the ocean rocking me, carrying me like a mother carries a child, rocking me to sleep. I haven't felt that in so long, until I went camping with renee this past week, oh I could have stayed forever. I may just as well have gone on my own, I think I would have enjoyed it more, just me and the characters I create, just me and the water. I can't explain the love I have for the ocean, I don't think I love anything more and I don't think I fear anything more. I learned to swim by being pulled down by the undertow of the waves and I've learned, the hard way, never to turn my back on the ocean. The ocean heals me and calms me like my mother never could. I've taken beating after beating from the sea but still, it can be so gentle. I feel like the sea, everchanging but still the surface seems to stay the same, always hiding it's secrets beneath the dark, cold waves. Gentle, like a mother, but a force to be respected and reckoned with, meek, until provoked and then, what rage. The ocean speaks to everyone, some just cannot hear.

4.4.05

a letter to my best friend that she will never read.

You are skin deep, and full of hate for things you've never seen and could never understand. You have no beliefs and no belief in me, but I'm not afraid of that, just for you. And the fear is what keeps you away, awake and so dedicated to the pain, it's all you know, the only thing that keeps you real and here in this world of bleeding perceptions, where you are still while the world around you spins and melts away. People visit your reality and all you see is them leaving you eventually because no one can stand to stand so still with you for long.

You are obsessed with the surface of things, and I don't wonder, because the surface is all you ever see, you lack the patience to examine the soul of anything. I don't think you believe in souls, you don't believe in your own. You believe in random things, and you must be a hypocrite because random implies change and you are a stagnant pool where depression and anger breed like mosquitoes.

You think you're someone else, someone other than who I see, but is that a mirror you're looking into or just a fantasy. Depression has become your individuality, how original I must say (even though sarcasm doesn't translate well onto paper), you need to realize that you are not unique in this, you need to find something else to be.
I'm not sure I'll live to see you happy, you may think you are but what will happen when he leaves, just like everyone else has, and all you'll have left is me once again. You live in your mind, in denial of the light everyone else can see, and you don't understand that you lie in the bed you made all those years ago, when being alone was easier than the truth and trying to find out who you are.


We are all looking for ourselves and I'm sorry but no one has the time to look for you except me, but what a waste of time that has been. I've found you, you weren't as far away as you'd like to think, and I was disappointed to see that you haven't grown, you're still the child I knew when we were in grade school, but I can't show you this, you're just too proud to look.

Only when you see yourself for who really you are will you be ready to grow. Nothing in life is permanent, you must understand, and I regret to inform you that you will always be alone to some degree, that is just the way life is. Depression is your way of staying the same, but after all these years even you are longing for a change, a new identity.