post-depessimism on life as art & ϑ’real

iꝬ it normal to obsessively fantasize about having been aborted iṋ ᴜ̊r teenage years?

ï cursed my parents for giving birϑ to me o͡ver & o͡ver, demanding ã answer for ꝡ ϑey wůld ever make such a naïve & foolish decision at ϑ’dinner table. now such a ϑiŋ seems almost unϑinkable & ï can’t help ⅋ut cringe at ϑ’ϑought. ï wonder ŵ changed. ï used to be a stubborn antinatalist & was convinced life cůld only ever be painful & tragic & ϑat happiness itself iꝬ only teasing a much greater disappointment. or even worse - ϑat nothing meant anything and it was all just a drag and the only reason i didn’t just kill myself was b∵c ï ϑought ϑat wůld be equally pointless and terrifying knowing i was going to die anyway; ϑat ï was broken, completely missing ϑ’mechanisms & gears required to experience joy, or môre importantly - ϑat everyone was & was just lyiŋ to me or/& ϑemselves. ï was wrong. nøt b∵c of any lapse iṋ logic ⅋ut b∵c ï had projected my terrible circumstances onto ϑ’nature of being - nøt just mine, ⅋ut everyone’s. a cold lifeless environment had been normalized by everyone around me. ï was told ϑat ï was ϑ’problem repeatedly, ϑat ï had nø right to be depressed, ï hadn’t tried hard enůgh to like it, hadn’t seen enough of ϑis world yet,¹ etc. ï remember my dad, upon discovering my misery, condemned my distain for life, telling me ïm in my golden years & ϑat life was only ever going to go downhill from here; ϑat “real problems ∃xist ᴜ̊ know!” & maybe ϑeyԙ right. all i ever dared to ask was “wait… if ϑis iꝬ it ϑen ŵꝬ ϑ’point?”.

ŵꝬ ϑ’meaning of life?

ïm in a lucky enůgh position to find such a question pointless now, to recognize ϑat ϑere can never be a satisfying answer to ϑis question., nøt b∵c life is meaningless, ⅋ut b∵c every abstract aspect of life is an art. on̅e ϑat encapsulates & engulfs everyϑiŋ, even deaϑ. it seems obvious to say nøϑiŋ is inherently beautεĭзful, & any attempt to grade or rationalize beautεĭз is reductive & misses ϑ’point inofitself. ꝡ do ᴜ̊ care about ϑ’art ᴜ̊ choose to engage wiϑ? ꝡ do ᴜ̊ find meaning in ϑat? ꝡ do ᴜ̊ l𖹭ve? wůld ᴜ̊ find ϑ’same abstract meaninglessness iṋ a l𖹭ver’s smile? iṋ a kisƨ? ŵ about ϑ’trees ϑat need ϑ’wind to blow ϑrů? iṋ ϑ’weight, ϑ’vastness of clouds? nøne of ϑis iꝬ to suggest ϑere iꝬ an inherent value to be fꙩund iṋ ϑ’meaniŋlesƨ torture perpetuated by ϑ’world around us, raϑer to sꜽ ϑere iꝬ nø inherent or baseline quality to life at all - & to assert suffering as ϑ’baseline is just as dubious & subjective as to say we ԙ all just animals motivated by joy. it seems almost as if after ϑ’age of 6 we nø longer allow ourselves to ϑink in terms of ϑ’real raϑer ϑan ϑ’abstract. iṋ terms of math & capital. ŵ iꝬ it ϑat a child is able to understand ϑat we cannot? ϑis question manifests iṋ ϑ’viral minimalist conlang Toki Pona - wůldn’t we all be happier if we took a step back & described ϑiŋs as ϑey objectively ԙ? do we really need môre ϑan 123 words to play wiϑ? it iꝬ an attempt to infantalise ϑought and limit abstraction via language itself. ϑis same yearning & admiration of innocence iꝬ prevent iṋ ϑ’art of pessimists everywhere

Keep all your crows away, Hold skinny wolves at bay, In silver piles of smiles, May all your days be gold my child²

oh I want to be a baby again, oh I want pure thoughts in my head³

⅋ut wůld Toki Pona actually work? iꝬ ϑ’abstraction of language really to blame for all of pessimism itself?

probably nøt.

it wůldn’t have changed ϑ’pervasive bleakness ï faced ϑrůout my teenage years. ϑere iꝬ nø meaning ϑat will ever be uncovered iṋ ϑ’pits of it - & yet ï am constantly living ϑrů life as if it iꝬ still happening. every experience ∃xists all at 1ᶜᵉ. ꝡ? ï was nøt depressed. ï was nøt broken. ï was reacting completely rationally to all ï was given. ï worry now ϑat ïm “nøt really” neurodivergent iṋ ϑ’same way. ŵ if years of beiŋ chronically understimulated lead me to ϑ’lingering restlessness i feel everyday? a fear of ϑ’stillness. ϑ’neoliberalization or mental wellbeing iꝬ just on̅e way of understanding “ϑ’problem” ⅋ut ïm nøt convinced. ï can’t put it better ϑan Mark Fisher iṋ Capitalist Realism:

The current ruling ontology denies any possibility of a social causation of mental illness. The chemico-biologization of mental illness is of course strictly commensurate with its depoliticization. Considering mental illness an individual chemico-biological problem has enormous benefits for capitalism. First, it reinforces Capital’s drive towards atomistic individualization (you are sick because of your brain chemistry). Second, it provides an enormously lucrative market in which multinational pharmaceutical companies can peddle their pharmaceuticals (we can cure you with our SSRIs). It goes without saying that all mental illnesses are neurologically instantiated, but this says nothing about their causation. If it is true, for instance, that depression is constituted by low serotonin levels, what still needs to be explained is why particular individuals have low levels of serotonin. This requires a social and political explanation; and the task of repoliticizing mental illness is an urgent one if the left wants to challenge capitalist realism.

a model for ϑ’Enviro-mentalist-view dialectic

ϑere seems to ∃xist ϑis triangular relationʃhip of our environments, our insanity & our φilosoφies. ï døn’t ϑink itꝬ fair to ever consider on̅e w/ø ϑ’oϑer. it iꝬ tempting to pit ϑem against eachoϑer, for example w/ φilosoφy o͡ver insanity & say “ïm killiŋ ⌐╦̵̵̿ᡁ᠊╾━ myself. ïm nøt ill. ϑere iꝬ nøϑiŋ wrøŋ. itꝬ only rational” or insanity over environment (like ï had) w/ “everyϑiŋ iꝬ fine, ïm just crazy” ⅋ut ϑis iꝬ & will always be a perversion of reality.

ï have nø decent way to end ϑis except to sꜽ ïm tired!