There's a reason I've lived this long according to "chronic suicidal ideation" and I just got a reminder of it, albeit futile at this point. 

It was the most disturbing aspect of it as described in that video, which is that people with chronic suicidal ideation are chronically looking for reasons or excuses to keep living and keep taking them. It was disturbing because it's verifiably true in my case in the most ridiculous ways. 

I remember (if memory serves) back in San Francisco writing a journal entry why I wasn't going to end it all at one point because I had to pick up my photo prints from the Berkeley Extension that I had left at the darkroom to dry and also because Throwing Muses were coming to town and I definitely wanted to see them (they're a top five favorite band of mine). I'm sure I was being sarcastic in writing it down, mocking myself for such petty considerations. Theoretically, really anything could be an excuse.

A couple years back I posted something neurotic and nutty about not sending a birthday email to my older brother and why I wasn't going to send one, which then prompted me to send one at the last minute because I was getting so wrapped up in the concept of the birthday greeting and my reasons to not send one were so neurotic that it would just be dumb not to send one. Good grief.

I think the context was that we're not all that close and I hadn't sent him a birthday greeting in years, I don't quite remember. I didn't expect a reply and that would've been totally acceptable and normal for our relationship, but I also knew he just as well might reply because that would still be natural and just depended on how he felt. And he did send a polite and cordial reply. Last year I think I sent something that he didn't reply to and that was fine; it was year one of the CCP Wuhan pandavirus and as a doctor he was under a lot of stress and pressure. 

This year I forewent any nuttiness and planned on sending a birthday greeting as if it was a normal, routine, long-standing practice and without all that neurotic energy. And he replied that same day. I'm not sure what it was about his reply this time. Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it seemed unusually . . . attentive? engaged? thoughtful? But I don't want to suggest any of his other communications weren't those things if he feels he was just replying like normal. Often I can describe communications with family members with words like polite, cordial, obligatory or sincere, bare-minimum response. No response. This wasn't any of those and just felt a bit . . . more.

It could be my imagination or rather my chronically suicide-ideating mind that is constantly grasping for reasons to live on that's reading into it wot's not there. Unreasonable pangs of living a little longer and even visiting them as suggested? Check in with the kids and see if they remember me? Visit my aunt in New Jersey who has been warding off lung cancer for a number of years? Like my aunt in Kaohsiung she has always been kind to me and pleasant to visit. 

Back on planet earth the reality dawns that flying abroad probably requires a smartphone. I don't know, as useless as search engines have become (spearheaded by Google), I haven't been able to search if smartphones are required for international travel. The assumption of course is that everyone has a smartphone and search algorithms can't even conceive of that in returning results. 

That's why I haven't made any moves to get vaccinated. When measures were announced in English for virtually everyone to get vaccinated, the part involving a smartphone to schedule it put an end to my vaccination aspiration. Everyone has a smartphone, they don't need to provide alternative means. Yes, I do realize no one can relate to my outrage. Anyway I'll wait until enough people are vaccinated that it's simple enough to show up with ID and get a shot. I'll wait until they're waiting for me.

Ah, but futile. And wow I'm glad I don't have the money to do any of that. Mentally running through habit is one thing. Reality is another. Embracing reality sounds pretty good about now.

I've been mulling over the "chronic suicidal ideation" revelation since hearing about it for the first time this past February. It blew my mind that it was even a thing. It blew my mind how perfectly and accurately it seemed to describe this most basic thing about me. It was mind-blowing going back anywhere in this blog and seeing evidence of it all over the place like a poorly covered-up crime scene. 

On the other hand I'm also wary. In processing it like a psychiatric diagnosis retroactively into what I've been writing all along, am I just seeing what I'm looking for? Is it valid if I hadn't identified it before, nor had any of my reads or anyone else I've spoken to over the years? Is it a mental crutch I'm using now for affirmation or to "feel better" about it or whatever reason? Or is it not even for me at all, but whoever else might happen upon this blog? As a recently encountered topic (coincidence?!), it's not gonna make it off the front page so the topic should be quickly visible as an important idea or theme. Well, thanks to this post.

The more I've thought about it, the problem is "chronic suicidal ideation" is only one description of reality, and in one certain version of reality it certainly is an accurate and appealing description of my life. But that's not really the reality this blog intended to describe. I had never heard of the term and if this blog were written with a self-conscious awareness of it, it may have been written quite differently. This blog even started as a self-described "mental health" blog, and if I knew "chronic suicidal ideation" was a thing in psychiatry I may have stuck to viewing my thoughts and experiences through that filter instead of organically as they happened.

As it happened, I think this more or less stopped being a mental health blog when I found mindfulness practice either nullifies or at least superficially checks mental health issues in the long term. I stopped seeing them as issues or afflictions and more as crutches or excuses that could be dismissed and allowed to leave. Common mental health issues went away, suicide didn't; possibly suggesting it never was a mental health issue. It took that form because of external circumstances and my internal reactions – it was the only way available to describe or understand it – but it was already there in a primordial form that predated teenage angst. I served it well carrying it with me in that form out of habit for many years but then it didn't survive mindful scrutiny, it lost that "protection". 

I might describe this blog as having become more about a flawed or problematic internal spiritual struggle which integrated suicide as an existential or valid philosophical inquiry. Being flawed or problematic doesn't necessarily mean there are faults or problems, that's just the nature of my path to learn from. That said, there most likely probably are faults and problems, but what can you do?

The "chronic suicidal ideation" descriptive is important, but it's not that important to me. It's important as far as the psychology goes, and even with mindfulness practice the mechanisms of psychology are ever-present and confounding, if not disturbing. It's important in filtering everything I've written, but it was only an aspect of who I was and not necessarily the most important. If I were to put emphasis on it, I feel like I'd be trying to shirk personal responsibility, that the reason for committing suicide was something other than my own doing; I had a mental illness and wouldn't have done it otherwise or if I had it treated. 

I don't know if it was fate or destiny or karma or none of the above, but there was a perpetual drive towards suicide that I can't quite understand or explain and it would be futile to try. I've tried. It was futile. I lived my life like everyone else made up of a combination of the things I've done and decisions I've made along with how I responded to how the world around me reacted and presented itself and unfolded. Causes and conditions that led to a result. It wasn't something completely out of my control like an illness. There was probably a high likelihood that I would eventually do it because of decisions I willfully made and not because I was messed up or depressed or despondent or without hope. Quite the opposite. And it wasn't easy, either, mind you. 

I've been watching Sadhguru videos regularly since I discovered them in February, almost daily along with cat videos. He still hasn't said anything that has put me off and has said much more that I quite like. I avoid videos with titles that seem to have no meaning or relevance like what to name a child or about wearing black clothes. It's very possible the content contains just as much wisdom as other videos, but I'm a little scared, I suppose, that I'll come across him saying something truly brow-furrowing that I couldn't accept. 

I've already come across him telling jokes that weren't that funny which puts doubt on his spiritual advancedness. Granted he's a mystic, not a rabbi or a comedian (although I think maybe an inordinate amount of spiritual teachers are closet aspiring stand-ups). He's told funny jokes I've heard before. And one funny one I hadn't heard before about an actor doing Shakespeare. The punchline was: What do you expect from material this terrible?! That's a good punchline, the joke almost writes itself!

Not to toot my own horn, and although thinking or filtering things this way may be detrimental, I hear him mentioning things that resonate with things I've come up before on my own and I can't help but feel the teeniest, tiniest bit of affirmation. In no way do I think I'm advanced nor that I don't need a guru.

For instance a video that reminds me of my joy-generating meditations/exercises. Ironically the video is about "being joyful", but what resonated was when he takes a strange left turn and he's talking about "love". What he talks about doing with love is basically my joy-generating meditation, words substituted. Joy/Love that is the result of external circumstances is fleeting and will pass, but if joy can be generated within oneself just through concentration and realization that it's there and that it's always there, and not relying on external factors, that's not something anything or anyone can take away. I guess it works with love if that's the focus. I've interpreted Tibetan monks doing the same thing with compassion.

He also touches upon a musing I've blogged about regarding how much energy it takes to be social and an active participant in this world. It's exhausting compared to the relatively small amount of energy I expend just living a flawed, urban-hermit like existence. People don't notice how much energy it takes because it's just normal and even desirable for most people. You wouldn't notice it until you start withdrawing from society but then get thrust back into it by merely meeting up with an old acquaintance. But most wouldn't even like the withdrawing part that calms energies because of psychological hang-ups of being lonely or getting restless.

I've also mentioned long-term mindfulness practice as being effective in dealing  with mental health issues to varying degrees depending upon the individual. I have to be modest about it and can't speak for anyone else. For me, I found that when old mental health issues would arise, mindfulness practice would intervene like a gatekeeper. The mental health issue would announce itself like it had all the right in the world to be here, but then mindfulness practice would begin its withering interrogation of how's and why's and for what purpose? and what do you hope to accomplish? Eventually the mental health issue would reveal itself as a crutch that I wanted and had summoned, but was a failing in its unproductive, self-destructive nature and was unnecessary from a logical point of view (Suicide conveniently withstands the inquiry. Mindfulness practice arrives with its articles of inquisition and suicide begins presenting its case with "exhibit A:" and gestures palms extended at my entire life, and ends with "he's gonna die anyway". Mindfulness practice forgets about the droids and lets the boy go about his business). 

One concept he mentions that was completely new to me is that human beings are born with a certain amount of energy that must be exhausted before being able to "die well". That's why it's better not to die prematurely like in an accident or by suicide; one's natural energy hasn't dissipated. This is not a concept I've recognized in the so-called Tibetan Book of the Dead or in any of my Vajrayana readings (I may not have the spiritual aptitude to recognize it). Dying well with energies properly exhausted helps lead quickly to a good, natural rebirth. Dying with energy remaining requires that energy to still be dissipated before being reborn, which could take years or decades (or longer) in human time. 

I don't know what basis there is to believe in that, but . . . same goes with the Tibetan teachings. If you're not on board with Tibetan Buddhism there's no reason to believe in any of it, but I've already tentatively gotten on board with Sadhguru, so I can afford him some benefits of doubt. His mention of "better not die by suicide" is OK with me because it's in the same context as "better not die in a tragic accident". Like you can prevent that?! These aren't judgments, just assessments of dying without natural life energies being depleted. 

I suspect whatever he has to say about suicide would be in general discouraging, presumably regarding typical suicides and fair assumptions about them, and would not necessarily apply to me. What teachers say about suicide and how is often a litmus test for me and nothing he's said about suicide has been offensive or insulting. I still get a sense he knows what he's talking about even with blanket statements or assumptions. 

It very well may be that all my years of chronic suicidal ideation by nature have been dissipating my reserve of life energy. If you keep death that mindfully close to you, perhaps the energies are drained that much quicker than if you expend them doing worldly things, not at all aware of them. It may have been by instinct that I've failed in the past because they hadn't been drained sufficiently enough (I know I'm giving my instincts a lot of uncalled for credit here, emphasis on the 'may have been'). It may be that if Sadhguru were my teacher, he'd give me a sadhana to work on that suicide is forbidden and not an option. That I would have to take seriously. And maybe why he's not my teacher in this lifetime.

My Sadhguru playlist (videos that had particular resonance for me).

looming

I exchanged the last of my U.S. cash for NT dollars late last month, so I'm officially looking at the end of funds, i.e., the supposed end of my life. I suppose I should put a disclaimer here (or trigger warning? spoiler alert?) that this all is only a reflection of current thoughts and not necessarily a projection of future action. My primary truism regarding suicide still applies that if I'm not doing something right now, it's fair considered I'm not doing anything at all. And I'm not doing anything right now, I'm blogging.

I have about three month's worth of funds left with no more "buffer" (that was the last of the U.S. cash) and no intention or desire to do anything about it. I know I've blogged this many times before, projecting how long I have left in terms of funds running out, and all of those times funds have come through, all those times I still had that buffer of U.S. cash. I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote about it before, was I being dramatic? Crying wolf? Maybe I was testing myself, practicing what it might feel like to face the end of funds? 

That last one sounds like something my subconscious would do, and if that's the case I think the practice paid off. All those times before I don't think I did so well. I'd feel anxious and desperate despite how disparate that was to my philosophy; basically getting caught up in the emotions of particular circumstances – exactly what mindfulness practice trains not to do. Now, this time, it's supposedly fer reals, it's serial; no buffer, no reserve, no reprieve, no miracles, no savior, no windfall, no stuffed mattress, no cartoon safe filled with NT cash falling through my ceiling. The cash will be gone in a few months, and when the cash is gone, the cash is gone. That means no mo' money. Great! Faboo, that was the plan. No point to those previous reactions, better to just prepare.

This is a big deal. It's nothing to be dramatic about, but I also don't want to downplay that it's a major marker signaling the end of my current life path. John's blog was mostly about his experience with terminal cancer and dealing and doing his best to live with it, but then he reached that point, that marker in the last month that signaled it was over (even though it might not have been so clear to him at the time) and there was no more treating or dealing with the cancer, no more fighting it. It just became about the non-stop, excruciating pain and managing it with military-grade the best big pharma painkillers until the end. For me, no matter what mind games I played with myself, no matter what neurotic dysfunction or flaky waffling I wallowed in, the end of funds, running out of money was always, always, always endgame. 

That was the plan. No matter what paltry, lame excuses I made to live on, no matter how many times I tried and chickened out, the plan was to constantly make life decisions that would funnel me to the point where I would reach the end of my funds and there would be no surviving the decision of suicide at that point. Ironically, it was my parents who foiled the plan for so long by providing base funds (which they thought were supplemental to my income because in their minds they simply couldn't conceive of me being unemployed as I have been for the past decade) that kept me not only alive, but reasonably, relatively comfortable. 

Chronic suicidal ideation is survivable in a similar way that bipolar, schizophrenia, PTSD, etc. are survivable. Those, of course, aren't death sentences per se, whereas if suicidal ideation becomes acute, survivability goes down because that's its nature. But if it remains chronic that means there are still mental mechanisms leaning towards living embedded in the consideration and contemplation of suicide and living with it becomes possible. 

I did and was all that but then I added a "fail-safe" (or its opposite, "success-danger"?), a few extra lines of code in the software of mental mechanisms that guaranteed that someday I would succeed in committing suicide instead of just living and getting by with the suicidal ideation. I basically sabotaged chronic suicidal ideation so that it wasn't survivable. The plan was that I set up the conditions so that I would have to commit suicide (by agreement with myself) when I had no more support (money) for living. And I'd never be desperate or motivated enough to make the money myself to survive. I learned about myself that no matter what job I landed or stability or satisfaction I found, it wouldn't last. I'd get bored, I'd sabotage it, I'd come around back to suicidal ideation and nothing anyone has done or said or been to me has changed that.

Little of this is actually new aside from hitting that marker of exhausting my buffer of U.S. cash. The "chronic suicidal ideation" concept is still a relatively new revelation that I'm not through mulling, but all of the suicide stuff otherwise is not. So I think it fair to quickly fill in the rest of the suicide philosophy that I prefer to approach it positively without despondency and recognizing that all things are impermanent anyway. I choose to view it positively as part of my path and that there is something to learn from it. Better that than be all negative about it, right? 

It also helps having a system of belief that includes reincarnation and doesn't put that much ultimate importance on any single bodily lifetime. Each lifetime is important, but for me the importance is measured in what's learned and spiritual progress made. Dying is not an ultimate end. I agree with the belief it's just the end of a body and not the end of a "person" or the energy or the path/journey it's on. How we die and the mindset we're in when we die is key to future manifestations and not human morality or judgment (except to the effect that they affect our mindset). 

If a "trigger warning" was warranted, I hope it's more to trigger living mindfully. If you're suicidal and don't believe in reincarnation, don't be an ass and just don't do it, throwing away your shot. Whoops, there goes the trigger warning.

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WordsCharactersReading time

I have to say, I'm glad I backtracked (a bit) about the mental health field not being able to effectively deal with "chronic suicidal ideation" and perhaps general accusatory suggestions regarding their prejudices and assumptions. Better to backtrack before being seen as ignorant or outright wrong. When I said I did a search for the term to see if it was really "a thing" and that the jury was still out about it, I actually just plugged the term into a not-Google search engine to see how many exact matches were hit. I probably clicked a few links but nothing bores me more than anything clinical and my reading didn't get very far. 

More recently, recognizing I had been lazy about it, I did what any reasonable lazy person would do next and plugged the term into YouTube where no reading would be required and found a video that was on topic and quite illuminating. I would say a lot of what he describes sounds quite accurate and generously covers a broad spectrum of issues and concerns. 

Among the things that stood out for me (in happy bullet-point fashion):

😀He mentions there's no single agreed-upon definition for the condition (although I thought mine wasn't too bad). I'm not even sure whether the term is established as "chronic suicidal ideation" or "chronic suicidality". All I'd like to point out is that the former describes it quite clearly and satisfactorily with each word contributing meaning towards a definition, while a full one-half of the latter uses a made-up word that isn't really self-explanatory. Of course I'm not a professional and not privy to made-up nomenclature accepted in the field. Like "suicidology".  

😀Treatment for chronic suicidal ideation is qualitatively different from patients who suddenly start talking about suicide as a result of something detrimental happening in their lives. Seems like a no-brainer but worth mentioning. Maybe it's too simplistic to say long-term strategies are more appropriate when it's chronic, but that is an important distinguishing characteristic. Prevention is more important when someone is immediately suicidal, but prevention strategies aren't necessarily applicable or appropriate when it's chronic. Of course the chronic condition can potentially manifest and become immediate at any time. Sucks to be their therapist.

😀A characteristic of chronic suicidal ideation is a balance with life-sustaining motivations! Wut?! People who are suicidal just see one way, ending it all. When it's chronic, however, people feel that way or see themselves like that and want to end it all, but in truth "ending it all" is a secondary motivation behind some primary, life-sustaining excuse to keep living. That is so fucked up, but then I looked in the mirror and it's the story of my life! That's how it's always been and that's how it is right now! It's a good thing that the final and ultimate life-sustaining element in my life, as he tells it, is about to come to an end, and I had planned it that way to eventually be inevitable. Either I'm a genius of suicide or an idiot (or just crazy). But it's still a few months down the line because of life-sustaining excuses and who knows what might happen before then.

😀To his credit, he does mention (briefly at least) some motivations behind chronic suicidality are existential and outside the realm of the mental health field. No amount of talking or therapy is going to change the underlying thesis (it is no longer an underlying mental condition or disorder) that is motivating the suicide, and of course that speaks to me directly. It may speak only to me. 

😀I still note that chronic suicidal ideation is not posited as a primary condition. It's always depression or a disorder that leads to it, and it never exists itself as the cause of depression or a disorder. Maybe there's a reason for that, but it might be interesting to hear that addressed even if ultimately discounted. Maybe they want to study me! Or not.

I have to say, the whole "chronic suicidal ideation" realization has been a bit of a revelation. For the past however many years I've been trying to schluff off ideas about "identity" and superficial things that supposedly identify who I am. I have no career identity as I have no career. Hobby identities have disappeared as I've stopped doing them for various and sundry reasons. Personality identities have been reduced in significance as I've worked on diminishing the primacy of ego-self and subjective absolutes; things that are taught as being the root of our suffering. I say I've worked on it, not saying I've been successful or good at it.

But now here in the 11th hour when I'm supposedly supposed to be about to cross my finished line, the universe plays this one last big joke on me: By the way, this is what you've been your ENTIRE life. I can't get away from it or schluff it off, even this blog is a full-frontal record testimony of it. Whatever I was trying to do with my life at any point, whatever pursuit or aspiration I had, this was always there lurking underneath. Not that I didn't know that, but stamping it on my forehead like an identity-albatross around my neck right at the end is like . . . *boo!* All these years blogging about something unaware it had a name, I dunno, makes me feel like I've been punk'd, bamboozled. By myself.

And it isn't even something mysterious or ineffable or unique. As evidenced in the comments on that video there are plenty of people like this. I thought I was pretty much alone in grappling with this, but it's apparently not uncommon. Not that I was too surprised, mind you, but it was a worldview-changing realization in a minor way. It's hard to describe that kind of 'wow' feeling, when just a little bit of information has a huge effect but little actual impact. 

I felt that maybe I could be an inspiration to these people, that maybe I could make a difference. Maybe if I could successfully commit suicide, they'd see there was hope for them, too! Or . . . NOT, but that's just how weird this all is. And maybe we shouldn't create a support group. But that's only because I thought Alcoholics Anonymous was a place to drink where no one knows who you are. 

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WordsCharactersReading time

Koji's "WTF? I've Got Chronic Suicidal Ideation?" Blog

A couple of posts ago I mentioned I wouldn't be willing to go through even John's mitigated cancer treatment if I were in his shoes, and wondered if there might be anyone who wouldn't be willing to go through my life if in my shoes whereby my supposed suicidal leanings were treated as purely mental health issues. By total coincidence, I found a blog soon after by someone who seems to have a similar baseline regarding suicide and has dealt with it by taking the mental health/psychiatric route. 

Her blog description mentions something called "chronic suicidal ideation" which raised my eyebrows. I never heard of that and did a search to see if that's an actual thing and the jury's still out on that. It never even occurred to me that there might be a clinical term for how I am, and I have to admit that does pretty much describe it. It's just a fancy-schmancy term for "thinking about suicide or committing suicide often, if not all the time", and to me the implication is that it's just there as a condition. In contrast, suicidal ideation that is not chronic is triggered by something, certain conditions in a person's life. 

However, I don't think that's the way the mental health profession sees it. It's not an independent condition that's "just there", that developed as its own pathology, rather it's a symptom of something else, usually depression among other possibilities. So they treat the patient for depression and impress upon the patient as being depressed and if the depression is treated successfully, then the symptom of suicidal ideation will go away. And truth to tell, I can't even imagine how "chronic suicidal ideation" could be treated otherwise, so I'm not faulting the mental health profession. 

That being the case, whatever "chronic suicidal ideation" is clinically would have little to do with me and vice versa since I'm not convinced I'm depressed. I amuse myself with the scenario of mental health professionals trying to convince me I'm depressed because I think of suicide or committing suicide often, if not all the time. That's just the way they think; not wanting to live means you're depressed full stop period enter send like subscribe and leave a comment. Depressed doesn't necessarily mean suicidal, but not wanting to live your life (under any horrific condition) automatically means you're depressed, no separation. John actually covers the absurdity of the mental health profession regarding "dying with dignity" suicide laws and depression.

Not quite so amusing is this blogger who thought of suicide and identified with it at the tender young age of five before all the psychological ramifications could be understood or appreciated from a developmental point of view. I don't know yet what happened after that realization, but perhaps as she got older she was bothered by the thoughts and sought psychiatric counsel who promptly pidgin-holed her as depressed, treated her as depressed, thereby convincing her she was depressed. I have to be careful not to sound too critical or cynical because maybe she is clinically depressed. If an alternative was to turn out like me, I can't really say I'm in favor of that either (except for myself, of course). 

I'm only at the start of this person's blog so I only have a slice, a myopic glimpse of 10+ years of her blogging and I'm not saying anything beyond this little that I've read. Trying to be as safe and objective as possible, no judgments, at the beginning of the blog (2009) among the other things happening in her life: 1) she's seeing a psychiatrist; 2) she regularly takes meds which are constantly being tweaked and dosages adjusted; 3) she sees herself and identifies as mentally ill. She's crazy, and sometimes I have to remind myself to read her through that filter which I hope is not patronizing or condescending. 

I'm not going to comment or suggest anything regarding her condition possibly having been perpetuated by the mental health profession telling her how she should view herself. Oh whoops, I just did. But really I'm not drawing any conclusions and, again, maybe the mental health professionals are right in how to treat her. 

I'm just glad I wasn't shunted into the mental health juggernaut. I'll take my chronic suicidal ideation as it is without the help and hope of recovery through psychoanalysis and a cocktail of big pharma prescription drugs that psychiatrists are probably paid to push, thank you. Help, sure I'm hypothetically open to "help" if chronic suicidal ideation is addressed as the primary condition, but otherwise I'm not willing to submit to their normative formulations that depression has anything to do with it. They'd probably tell me to go back to the monastery then! Fair 'nuff. That's probably the only advice from the psychiatric profession that I'd take seriously.

I wasn't at all serious when I rhetorically pondered someone not willing to go through a lifelong fixation with suicide, implying they would've committed suicide already. And it really was coincidence that I found this person's blog. I'm still trying to make my way through it, but it's a bit of a slog for various reasons. It did, however, answer my rhetorical question. She took the psychiatric path treating chronic suicidal ideation as a purely mental health issue and she didn't commit suicide. She accepted being depressed and being prescribed drugs to deal with it. So is it also safe to say . . . she wants to live? She constantly thinks about suicide, but also wants to live? Or is that me? That's rhetorical, too, since if I wanted to live doesn't matter anymore at this point and I'm fine with that. On the other hand, there still may be people who were not willing to put up with it and did check out early, and not surprisingly there's no testimonial blog to be found. 

I've been re-reading "John's 'WTF? I've got cancer?' Blog" for a second time through. My methodology this time (instead of reading by month) was to start at the first entry and then click and read individual posts in sequence, and when I stop reading I'd bookmark the next entry for where to start the next time. His Blogger template is one where links change color after they're clicked, making it easy to know where I'd left off in the archives/entries list on the right. 

The first time I read the blog, it was a first impression thing and I think I made observations that probably don't hold up. Maybe I was nit-picking critical and making unfounded assessments that I'm not feeling this time (except the lack of editing, especially when he writes something had been edited). But if I was unfairly judgy it was probably because of an observation I did make before, which is that a lot of what I read in his personality resonated as being a lot like me. He was hitting too close to home. John, in some aspects, was me. And that bugged me (guess I'm not unique).

I think I made the unfair observation before that maybe he wasn't all that popular or likeable? He got a cat that avoided him far longer than the time it usually takes an adopted pet to adapt (kitty don't like you, holmes*). If I did make any such assessment, that is truly cringe-worthy since I'm very much at the bottom of any barrel of likeability. I'm in no one's consideration to even contact which I think is a fair measure of whether people like you or not.  

* My theory is that animals and babies don't lie. If they don't like you, i.e., you're unlikeable, they'll let you know. They can sense your dark clouds. That's why I stay away from people's pets and babies lest they call out and confirm my unlikeability. The closest I have is a robot vacuum cleaner that hates my guts and never goes where I want it to go or it comes right at me when I'm not looking, the fucker.

It's nice to read it for what it is without being judgy and I'm getting more nuances this time, recognizing when he's covering up freaking out or melting down, and he doesn't always try to cover it up. I probably got how funny he could be as his sense of humor is similar to mine (I'd be surprised if I didn't mention that before), and I still appreciate it. 

More prominent in my reading is the sense that I'm reading the thoughts of someone who is doomed. His uncertainty as to when and moments of hope are profound in light of the terminal diagnosis with a fairly absolute cap on how long he can be expected to live in the best of scenarios. But when hope peeked through, he jumped on the hope. He seemed to be a pessimistic skeptic, but willing to latch onto unlikely hope when it happened to manifest. He wanted to live. 

And he continued to live as much as possible despite being doomed and despite the misery of treatment. He continued to travel and worked on a bucket list. He still engaged with people and worked on projects like fixing up his condo when he could've just said screw this, what's the point? 

Actually it seems that he was cherry-picking his treatment to minimize the misery, even if that meant the treatment was less effectual (advantage: cancer). And even though he declined treatment that would be debilitating or would be so miserable that he couldn't enjoy what little life was left for him to enjoy . . . what he describes still seems pretty miserable to me. It was a very fine line he was delineating. I wouldn't be willing to go through even what he went through. 

I wonder if there are people who wouldn't be willing to go through even what I'm going through. People for whom my life and issues might be purely mental health issues and wouldn't suffer the idiotic, flimsy mind games I play with myself to keep living. They might have taken life more seriously than I do and ended this kind of miserable life long ago as I should have, except . . . I want to live. Don't get me wrong, I also do want to die, I view it as a great adventure that awaits, as moving on. I would even say I'm looking forward to it. But I'm still here, so logically, if not obviously, I want to live; my ego-self is still attached to my life despite how illusory and fleeting I know it is. My life isn't miserable, it's profound! (my god, did he really just say that?😧😒😲)

I also view my life as doomed since I still haven't gone to the bank to try adding funds and still don't plan to. I haven't panicked yet despite seeing the finite and dwindling amount of money I physically have left (actually less than I thought since the remainder is US$ that I have to convert and it just so happens that the NT$ is currently at record strength against the US$, so compared to any other time in history I'm getting the least amount of NT for every dollar I convert. Coincidence?! . . . I think not). However, realizing viscerally what it means I do sometimes feel my gut tighten and a dark cloud in my head and at least briefly question my constitution. Actually I think the amount of time I have left is comparable to the time John had left after totally giving up on treatment. 

I'm not projecting anything as definite. I obviously don't know what I might end up doing. As I've said, I just don't know myself that well. The evidence of my life is that I'll try to continue on, but I've always had the money to continue on. This is the first time the money is really coming to an end. This is looming. It's dire, but it's also great. It's by design, mind you; this is exactly how it was supposed to happen if I didn't end my life in the ideal way, without external pressure. 

Doomed, John slogged on until he couldn't. What else is he supposed to do? Same here, just no travel on my agenda. Forget riding a bike around the island. Not even revisiting old haunts and places I've been to in the Taipei area that surely may have changed. I hear they've started construction on a bridge across the mouth of the Danshui River, an incredible project that I would have thought unthinkable. That's a bridge I'll never cross. I have no bucket list. Suicide is my bucket list. No adopting a cat, I'm allergic anyway. Daily cat YouTube videos, though. 

Whoa, dude, I'm being hit by a nasty bout of depression. I know I've written about experiencing depression in recent memory (meaning a few years) since it's rare by my reckoning. When it happens it's confirmation, to me at least, that I'm generally not depressed. There's a big difference. To me at least, if not how I sound.

To catch things up the past few weeks, my left knee appears to have pretty much mostly healed from whatever that was, but the sciatica still dogs my right leg from time to time; not too bad, doesn't contribute to depression, just a limp. The weather has no doubt been a contributing factor in the depression. There were maybe three days that weren't gloom and drear and with temperatures creeping into the low 70s and pale sunlight fighting a losing battle. But that long-range forecast predicting cold temperatures right around New Year's was not only spot-on, but spot-on with a Siberian vengeance with probably record lows on New Year's Eve. I'd be surprised if records weren't broken or matched. Cold contributes to depression with not a promising forecast.

Contributing factors aside, I'm gonna attribute the actual trigger for the depression being my space heater breaking. A few weeks ago I tried out pointing my space heater into the bathroom during showers and it helped mitigate that misery to the extent that I didn't give a second thought about using it every night since then or what it might be doing to my landlord's energy bill (I don't pay it directly, but I still feel bad since he's my cousin's uncle). Using the space heater made me think I could get through this. Whatever however shit it was to plummet myself under a cold shower, there was that steady flow of warm air making it bearable and which was especially appreciated when I was done and temperatures only rose at that point. The space heater breaking was the universe laughing and telling me to go fucking kill myself already, daring me at this point. The universe has no qualms laughing at the big joke of my life and making it worse in the pettiest ways. So the universe is not so much #worstlandlordever, and more the model of #sadisticthirdworlddictator.

I have no problem putting a theoretical, ideated suicide (i.e., not to be taken seriously) back in the cards on the table, except one principle I hold to is depression can't be a contributing factor towards suicide. If I'm feeling depressed, I'm not going to do it. Clear out the depression and I'm good to go. I am fighting the depression with positive thoughts and energy and happiness-generating meditations. It's all part of mindfulness practice. Ironically, a contributing factor in the depression is feeling that my practice has been going no where, but then countering that by identifying that as subjective with limited validity; don't worry about it, just keep practicing. 

I don't know if it's just me and my personal version of mindfulness practice, but depression can't crush a turnaround in positive mentality and realizing all of these conditioned things shouldn't be taken as real, fact or substantive. Unfortunately, I also think a part of my method is what I mentioned before about getting angry to cope with situations. I recognized getting angry may not be ideal as any sort of weapon, even fighting depression. I'm confusing and conflicting myself now, so I'll stop. I don't have a conclusion to which this train of thought is heading.

I only have reasons to commit suicide and letting go of this life, and nothing but my ego-habit and attachments preventing me. All of those contributing factors towards depression are valid contributing factors towards suicide, except depression itself. Good fucking grief. Why can't I be a normal person and just kill myself if I'm depressed and without all the neurotic conditions I've placed upon suicide? Just take a gun and shoot myself, except this isn't the U.S. and guns are hard to come by. OK, buy a portable barbecue grill and burn charcoal in my bathroom leaving one of the small windows above open to clear out the carbon monoxide so no one else is affected. But I don't want to leave a body. I don't want someone to find me and have to deal with a body. Why? What the hell is wrong with me? But it is absolute, I won't subject anyone to that. 

Oh, Happy New Year, btw! 2021, yay!

I will mention that a superficial way of dealing with depression has been in the mix CDs I've made for every year I've been alive. As geeky and pointless that may seem to anyone else, there's nothing like being able to put on a CD that was personally curated by myself and guarantees every song and segue is an uplifting bop of appreciation of beauty, groove or emotion. I guess it helps that the one enjoyment I have in my life is listening to music. Obviously it wouldn't help anyone who doesn't care much for music. But I highly recommend that sort of project for its therapeutic benefits in both making them and in listening to them in the lowest moments.

Finally, I need to own up to a mistake I made trying to be clever in my previous post. I referenced the song "War" and then thought I was being clever by referencing the song "Low Rider" thinking both songs were by the same artist. They aren't. War is by Edwin Starr and Low Rider is by War. So you can see how I got into trouble; an honest mistake. Why I would think "War" was done by a band called War simply went over my head. Well, Japanese all-girl punk band Shonen Knife wrote a song called "Shonen Knife". That even made it onto my 1991 mix CD.

All I have to do is not go to the bank. It's that simple. I don't need to do something, I just need to not do something. I'm expert at not doing something. Don't transfer anymore money from the States and face the fact that all I have left is all there is. It's a little bit like John's WTF I've Got Cancer? blog when he decided to stop chemo. He had Stage IV terminal colon cancer so he accepted statistically that he was going to die. Chemo just gave him increments of extra time to live, but he was never willing to sacrifice quality of life (subjective and fluidly assessed) to live longer. And it was when he decided dealing with the U.S. health care-pharmaceutical juggernaut was too complicated, farcical and frustrating, and that the emotional, mental effect on his quality of life was intolerable, he said 'fuck it', no more chemo. Even when the drugs came through, he was resolved to not take them. Fuck it. He was done with all that.

I think I've reached that level of resignation where it is no longer worth it to keep trying to get injections into my bank account that allow me to live a little longer, just to maintain . . . *this* (you have to imagine me spreading my hands in sarcastic presentation of my studio apartment that represents all my shattered hopes and, um, dreams). Going to the bank and dealing with the joyless and permanently cranky workers in the foreign exchange was always unpleasant. I'm sure not a single one of them listens to show tunes. It was also personally humiliating since it's not my money, I'm just mooching, and I'm constantly bitching and moaning about my worthless life when suicide is my affirmative goal. Even I can't sympathize with myself!

I should now consider the current remaining reserve funds definitely finite. We have loomage. Mind you, I haven't crossed the point of know return yet, meaning if I went to the bank today I wouldn't run out of reserves before the expected 2-4 months for funds to go through. So I'm still just spouting theory. But the more I just don't do anything, it will become reality. All I have to do is not do anything. Don't even think, even though thinking about it does remind me of the miserable experience of going to the bank and how I'd rather not. 

And remember (me, myself) I don't even want to be here anymore, I don't like being me, and any moment I focus on during the day just reminds me how worthless and undesirable every bit of this is (in a non-negative, not-depressing paradigm, believe it or not). Really the only thing I'm attached to is the habit. The habit of being me, of existence. The habit of being attached, the habit that resets every day just to go around and do it again; every day's little annoyances of things not going quite how I want, fixing the bits that I can and bits where they turn out fine, then shower, wash the shot glass, brush-a da teeth, lights out and reset. It's great! Just not my aspiration.

Oh yeah, and the alcoholism. Nothing going right there anytime soon. Or ever at all. You know what? I'ma take issue with alcoholism. I look up alcoholism and read up on it and I really don't fall under the definition of alcoholic. I only accede to the label to avoid being accused of being in denial. But no one's accusing me of anything, no one's even here, so I opine for the record that I wasn't really alcoholic.

Heavy drinker? That's harder to dismiss. I ration a third of a bottle of liquor per day, plus limited dipping into reserve bottles which also happens every day after the third runs out, usually the next morning. I look at a third of a bottle and it just doesn't look like much. But then I asked someone if he thought it was a lot, and for him he said that was a LOT. Mind you, I don't know about now but he was a pothead when I knew him, as much as a Ph.D.-former-NASA-employee astrophysicist can be a pothead. He now sells kalimbas for a living and the Grateful Dead is his favorite band of all time as much as Genesis is mine (he only quit NASA because they shut down their Socorro, NM, field station and he didn't want to relocate to D.C. to stay with the agency). I don't think he was a drinker, but he wasn't substance-free.

I'll settle for heavy drinker. I drink to detriment in that I can't deny ill health effects of alcohol consumption. I'm pretty sure my engorged gut is alcohol-related ascites without going to doctor and facing a bevy of tests saying that's probably so. And I'll attribute my gastrointestinal issues to alcohol, too. Alcohol wreaks havoc on the liver and the liver provides bile to the intestines to help with digestion, so if my liver function is presumably being compromised, then it's not a stretch to think that the gastrointestinal issues are alcohol related, even without an examination and a bevy of tests to probably tell me the obvious. 

This is a pretty miserable life I'm wasting away. I'm just rehashing here, nothing new (August always seems to be the "wake-up call" month). There's little to nothing redeeming about my being here; little of any real worth. There's little that I actually like about being here or being me; it's just habit and attachment, two things Buddhism specifically tries to tackle on the road to enlightenment. I profess to not even want to be here, and yet here I am long beyond my expiration date. All of this old news.

I'm starting to wonder whether mindfulness practice in my specific situation is actually counter-productive (I'm sure I've gone through this before). Everyday I've been able to identify a moment when I emphatically think this sucks or I hate this or fuck me or fiddlesticks! (normal people call it "life"). And yet mindfulness practice immediately identifies those as descriptive and not feelings to attach to as significant or permanent. Any negativity borne out of those sentiments gets immediately dialed down. And as disgruntled or annoyed as I get or scowl-y my eyebrows furrow, the benchmark of my life is how equilibrium snaps back and somehow everyday starts anew pretty much in the same vaguely intolerably tolerable place (even my broken bike became serviceable again, as after the seat tube completely tore I merely knocked the adjustment clamp off with a wrench and jammed the seat post into the tube. I just can't adjust the height).

I'd been watching the HBO show Westworld whose third season aired earlier this year, and my life experience is what are referred to as "loops" in Westworld lingo. Loops are repeated programs for the AI to live out in the show, variation provided by the human guests, but it turns out humans in the outside world are also pretty much living out programmed loops believing they have freewill, and it doesn't take much imagination to extend that out into the real outside world we live in and realize we're more or less doing something similar, believing we have freewill. 

Mindfulness practice seems to be keeping me in my loop, which means I'm doing it wrong because I think mindfulness practice itself is pretty solid and the pathways to freedom well laid out. It's only wrong because of my "deviant" goal; something very different. Mindfulness practice is good for people trying to stay alive because it's a means to stay alive, sane, reasonable, productive and hopefully compassionate. If that's not the goal, then it's not so great. Ergo moi.

Not just mindfulness practices, but teachings of Mahamudra ("great seal" (not walrus)) of Buddhism's Vajrayana also play a part. A central realization being that practice is anything and everything here right now. Whatever is being experienced at any given moment, practice is applied; perhaps "living in the moment" in Zen terms, but also not quite. It's not a flaky term of art to chill out, but a realization that requires disciplined time sitting on a cushion, I think. I'm not saying I have any realization, but I also have to be careful to not unnecessarily downplay my practice in the name of humility. Without a teacher to tell me whether what I'm doing is on or off, I need to be positive and optimistic about what I'm doing or else I'm totally wasting my time and that would be idiotic.

So general mindfulness practice makes me put my miserable life into perspective and keeps everyday on an even keel, and Mahamudra philosophy pushes me to practice in a way that welcomes the misery and use it as applied practice, while all I want is to be decidedly miserable and do something in accordance with that!

This is all just rehashing, reviewing the situation, even just marking time. I don't expect anything to come out of dishing through this anew, maybe it's just renewing hope that some day something will.

Dragging myself through these days, appropriate because these days are quite a drag.

It's not that I'm not trying to throw something, anything, up on the computer screen, just nothing I throw is sticking. I've tried multiple ways of saying any number of things, but there's just not a lot to be said of these days. And this isn't gonna be any better.

Stupidity in the U.S. and the complete lack of unity or leadership? China emerging as world power evil as the CCP reveals its true face in pushing back against increasing global realization that China has ambitions for absolute world dominance by any means necessary (pretty much acknowledged fact through leaked internal memos) is a dick? World affairs are not my forte and the less I say the better. Saying any more about these things would just be a drag.

Zooming in to a more local view and, ugh, just hot. Daily life dictated by how to react and deal with the heat. Daily afternoon thunderstorms contribute to the rigidity of routine regarding where I am when. It's a drag. Time to buy some women's clothing, the kind lumberjacks wear.

Zooming into micro, I'm wondering if I really may be done with all this and a next serious attempt may be at hand. I think it's been over or about 10 years since the last serious attempt and I wonder how serious that was. Meh, I thought it was a serious attempt back then and I'll leave it at that without over-thinking myself. And a 10-year gap doesn't mean it hasn't been ever-present. Not writing about it constantly just meant I didn't want to constantly repeat myself redundantly over and over again. Unlike my jokes.

I mentioned before that my financial status quo would require a visit to the bank in June, and I haven't done that. And I don't think I will or can unless I get another attempt under my belt. The timeline has to be: attempt → fail → go to the bank. The important thing for me is the attempt. The important thing to note is the assumption of the fail. I'm just yappin', which just might be taking the edge off feeling the need to do it.

The thing about an attempt to succeed is that I can't be thinking particularly clearly, and recently I've found my thinking vague, scattered and unclear. I'm not even sure what that means. Writing this sounds kinda clear and suggests this will all pass, but even that is part of the fuzzy and spiraling and confusing and lacking in stability or solidity. These are good things!

Whatever, I have no idea. I said this wasn't going to be any better than the nothing I haven't been able to get out in the first place. 

It's already blazing hot in Taiwan. If it's this hot now, what's it gonna be like in July and August?! However, vloggers in Seoul are mentioning that it's also summer hot there, so it may just be a regional weather system that's nothing out of the norm. I haven't turned on my air-con yet, which I only do when I'm confident it's a daily necessity, so I'm counting on a few more 80 degree days or weeks before summer really hits in all its glorious 90s-feels-like-100s misery. Is it strange to consider 80-degree range temps as being cool and refreshing? Foreshadowing the future? New normal? I'm so glad I don't have kids whose future I would be worried about after I'm gone; preventable misery and suffering caused by humanity's stupidity, short-sightedness and greed.

I used to love hot weather when I was younger, so getting tapped out by this heat is . . . a change?, not unlike becoming a wimp about pain and blood becoming a cause for immediate attention with band-aids and ointment like a 6-year-old (again I ask what happened to me?). And a bottom-line consideration is how it affects quality of life and when and whether quality of life goes below the fack-fackitty-fackaroo level and makes continuing on not worth it. That can't be determined until I turn on the damn A/C, which might make things tolerable? It's so pathetic what my quality of life is dependent upon, but also emphasizes that my current quality of life standard is subjectively pretty bare bones. I'm flying right at the edge of what I think is tolerable, which is just getting day-to-day with as little turbulence as possible. On one hand I have no idea how low I can go, but on the other maybe just one little change will be determinate. I just don't know.

In March, I found out that the last injection into my bank account did actually go through, it just took a lot longer than expected. Usually it took a month, but this time they said it would take two months, but in actuality it took four months. And in that period of time when I thought it wasn't going to go through, I was able to get into a mindset to prepare for end-of-life looming. So when I found I have funds to last until October, I was already assuming I wouldn't be going to the bank anymore; good riddance to that always-sucky experience. Furthermore, if it's taking four months now, I would have to go to the bank in June to extend beyond October. Meaning I'd have to decide to do something soon to affect something that wouldn't matter until October.

None of any of this means anything; any future projection is just fortune-telling. The best assumption is that I'll just do what I do based on past pattern, meaning I will go to the bank in June and hope banks in the U.S. are functioning during the CCP pandemic. I'll keep merrily rolling along as long as I'm able until I'm unable, despite how stupid and pathetic my existence is. I still maintain, though, that it's not worthless. I have had hints that when the shit hits the fan, when I'm finally really faced with my personal end-game, that I will be able to let go and unravel my neurotic attachments, inhibitions and aversions and that it will be liberating, despite how much I seemed to cling to them while they were there here. Once they're gone, I'm out and don't hold on to anything because that's what I mentally cultivated, and that is the greatest comfort I could possibly hope for.

After all I've boasted and bragged (not really) about never going to the doctor, I'm planning on going this evening. Excruciating abdominal pain didn't do it. The possibility of glaucoma and future blindness didn't do it. A plethora of niggling seemingly-health-related-oddities-that-make-me-wonder-what-the-hell-is-going-on didn't do it. Nevertheless, it should come as no surprise that what's doing it are symptoms suggesting possible "pulsatile tinnitus", according to a cursory DuckDuckGo search (trying to avoid using China-friendly, "evil is swell", internet-monopolistic Google). 

Something's messed up in my right ear and I can hear my pulse, accompanied by tinnitus which I chronically get having supposedly been a rock musician, as well as occasional pain and hearing loss, which I don't chronically get. It was something I expected to go away, but after a few days it persists and although some websites say it should go away in a few weeks, others warn not to ignore it and get a real diagnosis. In this case, I'm gonna err on the side of caution and not wait "a few weeks" for it to sort itself out before getting it checked out.

Deciding to plan to go see a doctor is no minor source of anxiety, mind you; the least of which is just the idea of seeing a doctor. If something seems serious enough to see a doctor, I'm good with that; it's just something I have to do. Anything seemingly less serious, I just wouldn't even go. The anxiety is more about navigating the national health insurance system which I've never done before on my own, and dealing with the language issue in case the office or the doctors themselves don't speak English. Now, most Taiwanese doctors have some facility in English, it's just part of higher education. I think all hospitals in Taipei can accommodate English to some degree.

But I'm not going to a hospital. Much of Taiwan's national health insurance also supports specialized local clinics; step-in places for spot treatment, I think. These clinics can be found on every business street in Taipei, easily spotted by a distinct national health insurance logo, and knowledge of written Chinese will tell what the specialty is. In my case, I can recognize characters for nose-ear-throat (鼻-耳-喉) and I'll go to one of those I've located in my neighborhood which doesn't open until 6:30 p.m. on Sundays. I'm just a little less confident about English-ability in these neighborhood clinics, but I may be able to get by with my cursory Mandarin if no one speaks English *anxiety, anxiety, anxiety*. Also in these situations, there's a distinct possibility there will be an English-speaking good Samaritan who will step in to help translate. That's actually not uncommon in Taiwan; I've observed people will help people in seeming need. 

I'll probably have to fill out forms, so along with my national health card, Taiwan ID and (expired) passport for good measure, I'll also take along my written address if I have to provide that in Chinese *anxiety, anxiety, anxiety*. I've re-memorized my old 2G phone number in case I have to provide a phone number. It doesn't work, but it's easier to give a defunct number than trying to explain that I don't have a phone, which nowadays is akin to having to explain how I'm breathing or that I'm here at all. 

Now, me being me, I have to blow this up to the wider issue of 'what if my hearing is going?'. Is hearing loss an end-game? Indications of oncoming blindness is probably end-game. If I went completely blind, suicide is no longer an option so I would need to do it while I can. Cancer I've already entertained is end-game. Other non-health-related circumstances that would force me into situations that I can't imagine adjusting to (like having to move) might possibly be end-game. 

Hearing loss? All other circumstances that I identify as end-game involve other people and my relationship with the world. Hearing loss is just me and doesn't effect anyone else. But as listening to music is among my last few enjoyments of being alive, hearing loss would reduce quality of living to under, let's say, 10%.

Still, if it doesn't effect anything else but me, it isn't the endgame of an untenable circumstance that I have no control of, but rather becomes part of mindfulness practice of not being attached and letting go. Being able to listen and enjoy music is very important, but that's what makes it an attachment. Being forced to give it up is a mindfulness challenge to that attachment. Mindfulness practice is more important than enjoying music. If the two can co-exist, there's no problem. But if they conflict, mindfulness practice prevails, even if it means a further step towards my ultimate goal of suicide, which is something I both want and am resistant to. 

I've continued to listen to music per habit these past few days. Sometimes the tinnitus is unnoticeable with earbuds and sometimes it's noticeable (can't hear the right channel). I've turned down the volume to prevent further damage and discomfort of high volumes (not that I blast music in earbuds anyway). But if forced to realize that continuing listening to music here on in would mean degraded quality, I think I'd consider it not worth it and giving up that enjoyment and adjusting. It might just be a great relief. If it's in furtherance of a next suicide attempt, then praise the lord it be so. To be clear, it's not an excuse or reason for suicide. It's just removing a lame excuse and strong attachment to keep living.

I've been experiencing depression lately! I don't get depressed in general, believe it or not, so although it's unpleasant and perplexing, it's also a bit interesting in ways. If I may be so bold, my brand of mindfulness practice precludes mental health issues. Or perhaps, rather, what might be conventionally seen as mental health issues are filtered through a prism of mindfulness practice, broken apart and considered in constituent parcels.

When the feeling arose, the first thing I did was identify it and not deny it. It felt bad, it was dark and persistent, it was a thing as real as it could be without being solid and it didn't have an identifiable cause. It wasn't a passing mood or just feeling down. Hello darkness my old friend, you've come to bend me over once again. As soon as the identification was made, mindfulness practice kicks in to investigate it; examine the contours, what is it doing to my thoughts and feelings? Pick it apart intellectually at first and then dispel it logically by realizing its illusory nature and using my brand of mindfulness practice that doesn't allow for it because I have too many other mental afflictions to investigate. Don't get attached to it, don't give it any substance or traction, don't react to it and just let it be and wait it out as if it were a physical ailment. That's what mindfulness practice teaches in this situation, that's what makes it useful.

The manifestation is real and can't be downplayed, only placed into perspective. It arises at times when there's a lull in my mental continuum, between things I was doing that kept me distracted, and it would be exacerbated by the simulated urban hermit situation I've created for myself; the isolation, the lack of connection and relationships, no where and no one to turn to. Tunnel vision, tunnel consciousness, closing in on all sides, tinges of desperation. The season and the sun going down sooner each day not helping; even my age and degraded eyesight contribute. It's hard to describe when I'm not feeling it, and when I'm feeling it, trying to describe it isn't high on my priorities (actually no, that's exactly what mindfulness practice does, blogging about it is what's not high priority).

I thought it may be related to Sulli's suicide. Not just hers, but a month earlier another female singer, Woo Hyemi or Miwoo, was reported having died at age 31, but she was much less known and reportage was sparse and ambiguous regarding the circumstances with little follow-up. That's code in Korea's cagey media that foreigners learn to decipher that it was most likely a suicide. If a young death is not suicide, they readily report the cause, so if they don't report what happened for whatever reason, that's pretty much their way of reporting it was a suicide. And it turns out I know who she was, her debut song as Miwoo made it onto my 2015 mix CDs. A month before her death she released a song under her name Woo Hyemi which I didn't recognize, but I subsequently looked it up after I realized who she was and it's poignantly sad, but quite beautiful.

I have kept both women in mind, including during morning sitting, focusing energies, trying to get my head around at least Sulli's depression and mental illness that led so finally and deafeningly to her suicide. I'm supposedly suicidal, although having failed at it for so long might preclude the claim. I don't have depression, although believing I'm suicidal but failing at it for so long might preclude the claim. But I know I wouldn't commit suicide because of depression, and even during these bouts with it I've re-affirmed that. And oddly, regarding alcohol, drinking doesn't make it worse as one might believe it would. It's actually a comfort, something familiar. Here's that feeling again. I think I'll have a drink. Ah, much better.

But I was having trouble empathizing and understanding what happened to Sulli, and I want to. Shinee's Jonghyun I got. Robin Williams I got. Even Anthony Bourdain I got, just a lot didn't make sense and was counter to what I supposedly got. With Sulli it was why'd you hafta go and do something like that? So the universe, if not Sulli's energy itself, sends this to me to try on for size.

I guess the next step in mindfulness practice is connecting the depression with Sulli herself to try to understand it and generate compassion for her and truly empathize. This feeling I'm experiencing but multiplied by 10 or some greater factor had become her reality. Whoosh! I can only scratch it, but that may be enough. I don't need the full force of what she felt nor how all-encompassing and consuming it must have become. May she reincarnate in peace.

I had to go back and look at what I wrote after K-pop boy group Shinee's Jonghyun committed suicide in December 2017 at the age of 27, and why I wrote so much when I wasn't a fan and didn't know a whole lot about him. I do remember wondering what I would feel if such a tragedy hit closer to home.

Ex-f(x) member Sulli committing suicide last week at the age of 25 was closer to home, but curiously I don't have a lot to say about it. The feelings have been very subtle, persistent, resonating, existential tailspins whenever I considered what I had read and tried to fill in the blanks. Everything was wrong and tragic about it. Everyone in and into the K-pop scene should be angry and outraged about it. Basically, she killed herself after years of enduring hateful and malicious comments on her social media when she was just being herself and expressing her views, and it affected her mental health to the extent that she finally ended her own life.

It shouldn't have happened. She wasn't predisposed to suicide. It bothers me that she's no longer here. But I don't have a whole lot to say beyond that.

Fancam from one of the last times Sulli performed with f(x) in 2014:



I admit I was disappointed when she left the group in 2014, but when she returned to music earlier this year and released a surprise three-song single, I was blown away by how good quality and what a fully-formed concept (i.e., not throwaway or half-assed cookie-cutter) it was.

I don't know why, but for the past few weeks I'd been thinking about sending my second older brother a birthday greeting email this year. He's the one who has de facto cut contact, whatever that means. I don't know if it's just with me or if it's the same with other family members, meaning he won't contact them first, but will respond appropriately if contacted. He'll behave appropriately if they visit, but only visits them in the course of going somewhere else. Maybe he never calls them to chat. Maybe he does? Does his family make family visits just to visit (the distance is from Philly to NY)? I just don't know, I have no idea what their relationship is. I only know that I'm persona non grata. And that's it, I don't know the reason or the feeling behind it or if even there is a feeling behind it or just a cold decision he made that he'll be courteous if I happen to be present (physically or electronically), but otherwise he wants nothing to do with me.

But since I "just don't know", maybe I'm not being fair in making any uninformed assessment just based on what it sorta kinda looks like feels like to me. I don't know what he actually thinks. And after all, he is the brother I've said has complete immunity in whatever he does in regard to me, I will always consider him . . . positively. I'll always say he was a good older brother. That goes with my oldest brother now, too. 

<real time>OK, I sent the damn birthday greeting email</real time>

Writing all that above made me say 'just send the damn birthday greeting while it's still his birthday over there' (hour'n half left). But now I'm gonna continue this post and regret sending it, because the assumption when starting this post was that I didn't send him the greeting and go on about why. 

But now there's no more point to this post since I sent the greeting; that changes everything. I was gonna mention my old idea of don't be something to someone when you're considering removing yourself being here permanently. The way things are going I'll be around for at least the next 500 years, but my everyday is always asking and looking for when and why not now.

I was gonna mention that our status is actually such that we can drop an email out of the blue and it wouldn't be a stunner. And now that I've sent the greeting, no, he won't be stunned by it. He may or may not reply to it. I'm guessing he'll neither be pleased nor displeased by it. It just is what it is. If he wants to respond, he will; if he doesn't want to, he doesn't have to. Full immunity, he can do no wrong. 

I was gonna mention that his birthday occurs during the Tour de France and he's a true cycling buff, so I could mention the tour in the email and it wouldn't be awkward just saying happy birthday and other generic pleasantries about the weather. And I did write briefly about the tour since there have been fireworks to get excited about.

That's so funny how I started this post with a good idea of where it would go, but then once the central assumption disappeared midway, I'm having trouble remembering what I was going to write about. Story of my life? Par for the course? Cliché?

I don't know why, but for the past few weeks I'd been thinking about sending my second older brother a birthday greeting email this year. But even while considering it, I knew I wouldn't actually send it. It was just good intentions; an exercise in sibling relations that in recent years might reasonably be described as "estranged" or "non-existent". My oldest brother and I still send obligatory birthday greetings, although this year he didn't even respond to mine with the obligatory thanks, the wife and kids and the weather are fine. My second oldest brother, we haven't at all in years. 

I think maybe I was considering it in more of a "because I can" way, that whatever frost, if one can call it that, has descended upon our siblingship, it's not of the nature that neither of us couldn't drop a random birthday greeting any year it dawned on us to do so. It was a mental exercise in potential and possibility; when you think of doing something you don't ordinarily do and can think of dozens of reasons why not, but then do it because . . . why not? It's a left turn, and my life paradigm when I was much younger was "always take the left turn". The left turn is the unknown, the adventure, the risk. Going straight is safe and boring, predictable. 

But that's potential, this is reality, and reality says don't send it; there's nothing wrong with safe, boring and predictable. There's no actual, active relationship between us. What would I be doing or saying by breaking radio silence and sending it? Hey, I'm here? Hey, I've been thinking about you? Neither of us cares about that sorta shit and might lead to further unexpected, unwanted consequences and communications. And besides, my current life purpose is to land all of my relations exactly where ours is, why would I mess with that? If I manage to commit suicide, people should have to wonder when was the last time they heard from me, and that's supposed to be the primary descriptive of our relationship.

Whatever, I'm just gonna send the damn birthday greeting email.

I was wrong about the two previous posts not needing to have been writ. They were actually helpful. Sometimes you need to go some place to realize it's not a place you want to go. Oh. That's kinda the story of my life.

The conveyor belt/treadmill metaphor was useless, albeit accurate, but realizing that still requires formation of some other paradigm. New paradigm. Different paradigm. What was wasn't working.

Nothing should be comfortable about my existence, considering how it has to end. Well, how it has to end for all of us, but trying or pretending to choose to in my case. Itsa big difference. For people in general, we all have to die but that's no reason to not get comfortable about existence as much as we can. Let it come when it does. Don't go where you're not invited until you're invited.

For people like me with the realization of death as a focus, there is no getting comfortable with existence. Death is a reality that can't be put aside because putting it aside is ignoring the obvious, and existence is by nature uncomfortable because it's fleeting and needs to be explored and understood as such. Maybe that's what the great adepts were getting at. Maybe they were as bad at it as me. Probably not.

I'm thinking I have to tap into sadness and despair, not as emotions but as concepts, which is a bit ironic since Buddhism teaches to do away with concepts. In this case, the concept is a tool in furtherance of doing away with concepts. Which in many ways is exactly what many Buddhistic methods necessarily are.

Sadness and despair are useful in that those are the normative emotions, tools, concepts that ordinary people avoid or are given as reasons or explanations for suicide. But I'm not ordinary, I'm not necessarily suicidal, it's just what I want to do and will eventually have to do since that's the way I set my life up. Not being suicidal makes it hard to commit suicide. Tapping into sadness and despair just as concepts, and not as the things humans generally attach to as real and things to avoid, can help. 

There's a lot of blurring that goes on. All the beauty in the things I love and appreciate become sadness and despair because they are fleeting. They won't last no matter how much I want them to be loved. Dig deep and deeper into those emotions of love and appreciation and they become sadness and despair because they all come to pass. It's still love, and joy is still joy, laughter is still laughter, but they take on more dimensions, they become multi-faceted. Anger is no longer a feeling but an energy that's pretty useless and can be stopped when recognized as an energy. Lust is no longer some base animal impulse for desire and self-gratification, but a very powerful energy that is very useful if controlled. Despair and sadness don't mean depression. Everything starts getting transformed in practice.

I don't know when it will be time, I don't know how others knew it was time, but I've come to imagine it's a full-body realization. I've never had that before. I used to talk about being at 100% or getting to 100%. As a full-body realization, I doubt I've ever been near 100%. I won't project on what I think I was, I may have never even been 1%, I may have gotten to 80%, I just don't know myself that well. 

Appalled. Fucked. Wack. Facked (Australian accent). Those are some words that have occurred to me to describe my previous post. I was poking fun at myself, but what I wrote is seriously twisted. Ah, another word. Some sick shit. I could probably go on if I put my mind to it. Totally muhfoofooh.

The suggestion that I should just comfortably accept staying alive just because shit isn't hitting the fan is mind-blowing and has been sending me into core code wtf? reality collapses and existential fishtail skids. Poking fun at myself as a coping mechanism for neurotic dysfunction and things not going my way is fine and dandy, but it's wack telling myself it's fine and dandy when all the screens start blanking on and off with static and white noise because the frivolous bit of code I introduced (the previous post) is just that bogus.

So no, no, no, no, no, no, no (oh mama-mia, mama mia) on that smooth-ride-day-to-day, wait-for-something-to-happen-first attitude. I should be stressed, I should be on edge, there should be existential angst. Mindfulness practice should take any emotionality and hysterics dramatics out of it, but the tension and cognitive dissonance is necessary. I should be constantly pressing towards suicide despite a pattern and history of failure (the 'failure is overrated' claim is still valid). There is something seriously wrong with this picture, this program that is my life, and pretending it's a smooth ride that I can be lazy about (lazier than I am, apparently possible) is way off mark. The previous post is just a sub-routine, a fail-safe. It's an aspect that's there and may actually come to pass, but it's not a primary paradigm.

This may come off as sounding really strange, but it also conflicts with my ideas of interdependence, which I believe in as a part of mindfulness practice. Interdependence is integral to mindfulness practice, actively recognizing the connections and relations between everyone in our lives. When you think and act independently and not interdependently, you risk running into trouble. The interdependence aspect of mindfulness practice helps avoid or mitigate those problems because you considered other people before acting.

In my case, consideration of interdependence of course comes with a twist. Where's the interdependence when my life has been all about isolating myself and cutting contact to some degree or another with literally everybody? But even with my idea to commit suicide, I'm aware of interdependence. And actually I theoretically couldn'twouldn'tshouldn't commit suicide without interdependence, it would be pointless. The interdependence is still there in the removing myself from their lives and affecting them as little as possible. It's a whole life thing, cutting off from people doesn't eliminate interdependence.

Somehow, though, distilling suicide to a knee-jerk reaction feels like an independent, selfish (yep, I went there) act. It treats suicide as just needing a trigger and becomes a matter of cause and effect and suggests I can be casual and cavalier until that trigger occurs. That all reacts badly with my ideas of interdependence which require continuous, mindful recognition that there is gravitas in such an act. However little impact it may have, it needs to be respectfully contemplated. I've done all I can to mitigate any impact, and there may be shock, but not any real impact beyond knowledge of an unpleasant fact; a fact of life I may add. I could've been killed by a bus and the impact should largely be the same.

So with the albatross firmly back around my neck, I'm back to wondering how will I know it's time? How did they know it was time? What strategies do I have to determine when it will be time? The spanner in the works is that time has long past, anytime will do really. Then the question becomes a perpetual 'why not now?' and I've been asking that for so long it's meaningless and ridiculous. Really, this and the previous post shouldn't have happened. I should've just posted about riding and the weather. Taipei should just cancel winter at this point. I think this is the first winter I haven't switched out my floor fan for a space heater. I don't think it's possible at this point for Taipei to get cold enough for a long enough period to salvage any notion of winter.

meet the new paradigm, same as the old paradigm

I started using the metaphor of the conveyor belt to cynically describe routine getting me from day-to-day, hoping to spur me to some sort of action. That was an abject failure. Even cynically observing that it had morphed into a treadmill has done nothing. Instead, the metaphor itself has transformed to accurately describe a "smooth ride". And who doesn't like a smooth ride? Would you rather be riding in the backseat of a car driven by a really smart kangaroo or on Space Mountain? It doesn't matter if it's a conveyor belt or a treadmill, my day-to-day is a smooth ride and I don't have to do anything, and as long as it's a smooth ride day-to-day, why do anything?

I'm well aware the smooth ride can get bumpy rolling on a dime. How long can a life designed like mine go on without something going wrong? It's become clear that I need something looming to actually do something, but loomage doesn't have to be some long, drawn-out thing where I'm watching the train approaching from way off in the distance, like finances dwindling away, and I have time to brace myself for impact and wane philosophical. Loomage can dramatically appear with the drop of a hat. I have a "go bag" ready (sort of) so that when I'm confronted with the situation whereby I assess I really don't want to deal with this thing and I'm done, I can go immediately.

For example, I have it established in my mind that I'll never move again. I can't imagine having the energy or motivation to ever put in the effort to futilely organize all the stuff in my apartment into manageable parcels to transport. My apartment now is the last place I'll reside. So if my landlord says he's selling the flat and I have to move, I'd look at all the circumstances and what I'd have to deal with to move, decide I don't want to deal with all that, and it's a go. I'd tell the landlord I'd begin looking for a new place and that's the last he'll hear of me (with apologies since he's been so good to me).

Actually, I don't know what situations would qualify as triggers, I don't even know if needing to move would actually qualify. I've been there before with the same attitude and duly ended up moving. Multiple times. I just don't know myself that well, but apparently I do have a survival instinct to deal with situations. My life is all about discrepancies between what I intend and what I do. Wait, everyone's like that, why am I tidying it up like that? My life is all about the discrepancy between intending to kill myself and never actually doing it. Imagine my surprise on the day that I actually do have to die. I'd just be so relieved that I don't have to do it myself. Disappointed, I'd consider it a failure, but relieved. Failure is overrated anyway.

How bad of a disruption to the smooth ride is necessary for me to decide it's more than I want to deal with; that finally ending it all would be the better option?
- Despite what I said, I think having to move still qualifies, past resilience notwithstanding. How would I even go about finding a new place? I don't have a phone. I can look up listings online, but convincing someone to deal with someone without a phone is probably asking a lot. How do I go about getting someone to move me? I don't have a phone. I don't speak the language. I don't know anyone I would be willing to impose upon to help me. Prior times I've had to move, at least I could figure out logistics of what I had to do. It was at least possible. Conceivable. Ideatable.
- Broken toilet that I can't figure out and doesn't affect anyone else? Things like water outage or internet down affect my neighbors and I'd just have to sit tight until they contacted the landlord. If it's something that affects only me, I'd have to contact my landlord. I don't have a phone. I could ring his doorbell. My Mandarin is pretty completely gone. Can't shit, commit suicide. Strange, but for me it's not so crazy. I'm a pampered, privileged bastard.
- Finances. That, my usual albatross, goes without saying. At some point, somehow, the money will be gone, and when the money's gone, the money's gone. It's math even I can do.
- Losing my keys. I've long contemplated that. I even mentioned it to Sadie when she was here that it was a trigger and she was like, "Let's get your keys copied NOW". I don't know how hard of landing or a brick wall this one is to go. First of all, forget the "go" bag, it's out of reach in my apartment. It may be a slow burn figuring out how bad it would be to ring my landlord's doorbell and get a new set of keys. Given my past and my psychology, I'd probably ring his doorbell despite long contemplating it to be an absolute trigger.
- Enlightenment! That strangely actually makes sense, but I'm not going to get into the mechanics of that. Believe it or don't, I couldn't care less. I think we just got an answer to the likelihood of this one.

All of this purely speculative and none of these likely to happen. But something will. I can count on that.