I've been thinking about whether or not life is worth living these past
few days and having just turned 21 myself, reading that shifts things into
perspective a bit more.
Back in '92/93, during adolescence, I for whatever reason lost my will to
live as well as any sense of purpose and became suicidal. I tried to take
my own life on at least one occasion. During the worst time of that period,
what I still consider the worst time of my life so far, I was in despair
because I didn't think there was any way I could kill myself and therefore
forced to live in agony. Then I was reminded of the feasibility of hanging
and I was hopeful again, so much that I felt what I thought was genuine
happiness. I was reanimated, vibrant, charismatic, and ambitious and I
thought that it was because I planned on killing myself. But then I was
able to enjoy life and considered sticking around a bit longer--until I hit
another snag. A few months afterward I experienced another bout of
spontaneous euphoria and that's when it was officially determined that I
was manic-depressive.
Aside for a few short-lived manic episodes, most of that era was spent in
depression and so I usually had very little will to live if any at all. All
that changed in my last manic episode, in October '94. I was so elated it
was orgasmic and for no apparent reason, either. I felt I was getting high
on life itself and because of the delusional nature of being manic I
thought my personal life all of a sudden was absolutely fabulous, that
everyone was my friend, and that the future would progressively get better
and better. And more than ever before I wanted to live--in fact, live
forever. And I wanted to know everything, I craved knowledge more than I
ever did before.
That didn't last long either and from there I fell back into a
depression, one that lasted three years, ending in the fall of '97. But all
that time I was still fervid for more knowledge of everything, I still had
a will to live and to this day wish to be immortal (in the same way
Extropians do). A lot of the time through that depression I didn't consider
life worth living and if in 1993 I knew what would happen in the five years
afterwards I probably would have made a greater effort to kill myself. Even
though I didn't think life was worth living anyway I didn't want to
seriously consider suicide again. I was actually willing to live in
depression until I was 30. Then maybe I'd kill myself, Idunno.
I just recently relapsed and so even today I don't feel my life is worth
living. But I do think life itself is worth living. I used to wonder why
the homeless, who beg all day and sleep in the cold of night, don't kill
themselves. Well, there are different reasons for that but I guess what
keeps them alive, if not fear of death, is hope. That they won't
necessarily always be homeless and the prospect of one day having a secure
and sheltered life is worth sleeping in the cold all those nights.
Life may not necessarily be worth living, but I think it's worth fighting
for all the same.
/_/ / /o / /
/ / / / / / Mark Cidade
/ / /) / / / _ http://www.marxidad.com/glub
/ \/\ \_/\/\_X/ ^^^^
"When all else is lost,
the future still remains."
- Christian Bovee
"It was previously a question of finding
out whether or not life had to have a
meaning to be lived. It has now become clear,
on the contrary, that it will be lived all
the better if it has no meaning."
- Albert Camus