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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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Purpose
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I have no snappy intro, so pardon my lack of a professionally written
essay.
Lately, having been on the F.U.C.K mailing list for a little while, it
seemed to me that the files F.U.C.K once had has been reduced to angst
driven generation x'ers whining about how bad their life is, usually
dealing with depression, chemical or not, first and foremost. That's
what my shallowest thought was at first, at least, and I rebuked
myself for thinking that.
Everyone gets depressed, sure, and I'm not one to argue. I've got
depression, yes, chemical, and in the last year it's become a large
chunk of my life. But in the past few years, I've also gotten to be
close friends with many people who's depression far surpasses mine.
To me, my depression seems to be small mood swings (although I'm not
manic), while they truly seem to be on the brink of killing
themselves at a moment. Most everything about yourself, you'll find,
can easily be dwarfed by someone else, somewhere else.
Dragging someone back from the pits of suicide can take quite a toll,
and it's an experience that I've re-lived a few times, that I care
not to repeat. Saving someone's life is not the glory the movies
make it to be, not the beauty that the books say it is. Keeping
someone alive was one of the most difficult things I'd ever attempted
to do, and even then, the very concept was thrust upon me suddenly.
And this is what I realized, among all these emotional shards, and
after wading through the bullshit about myself. You let someone into
your life, and you care for them, and then whatever deity you happen
to worship takes this person in your life and threatens to have them
leave forever. Right then, you find that you'll do something at all
costs to keep them with you.
"I'm alive, I'm alone, but I never wanted to be either of those."
-Chemical Brothers
Many of you out there reading this have sat in a room for days,
dark, silent, brooding upon whatever went wrong in your life.
More often than not, you're by yourself. No one is going to sit
in a room and brood with you, for days, with no food, no light,
no words. So you don't want to live. Too bad. You're alive.
Now, the secondary things take effect. You're alive, yes, and let's
say that you don't have the guts to take your own life; to just
flush it all away in a tidalwave of pills or with a few delicate
arcs of a razor. How are you going to live?
Do you want to live alone?
When I asked myself that question, my mind, of course, threw
myself back into the past where many, many people I've let
close to me had hurt me, scarred me in ways that still affect me.
"Of course", I had decided. "Alone sounds beautiful at times."
It hasn't been all bad experiences, however. Think down your
past, or present, perhaps. There's been a person who, at one time,
gave a damn about you, and possibly still does. Human companionship
is something that's kept me alive a few times. It's time to ask
yourself why you're not dead yet, but you want to die.
Well.
So.
You're still alive.
Unconsciously, you're living for something, whether you like it or
not. Something is making you get up every day, and making you walk
past the loaded .44 that you have in your dresser drawer, and making
you pass by the large steak knife that has had no sole purpose in your
kitchen otherwise. What is it? In most cases, it's human
companionship. Perhaps you live for the injection of the needle into
you, every morning. Perhaps it's for the sex you can get with just
a question. Something is keeping you alive.
Sometimes it's never a fun thing to question who you are, to dig
deep and analyze what makes you a person, but it's apparent from past
issues that many of you already know who you are, and that you're not
afraid to dwell deep into yourself when the moment calls for it.
So. Analyze what keeps you alive. It's something. Once you can label
what it is, keep that thought. Kindle it, keep it close to you and
shield it from any possible damage. Because if you lose that, then you
lose everything. Literally. All of it.
Maybe the bleakness of death hasn't exactly looked you into the
face yet, or for some of you, maybe you awake finding death looking
at you. Either way, you're either foreign or familiar with it. Do you
fear it? I do. I believe there's nothing after death. No pretty
afterlife, sorry, no bright lights and angels. So I've made up my
mind that if I want to be happy, I'm going to go out and make myself
happy. I'm not about to sit on my ass and wait for a clown to walk
through my door and start tying balloon animals in front of my
face, while I sit, amused. Those sorts of things really don't happen.
I promise. And sometimes, I find that one person is the only thing
that makes me want to live. The fact that I have someone. At all.
And maybe I don't know what true happiness is. Everyone has a
different definition, but some people are fooling themselves while they
drown in their own pool of denial that they've made for themselves to
escape their reality, and to avoid the fact that there's still options
open.
So, are you sitting in front of your monitor, thinking of
ways to die? Ways to get laid? Ways to be loved? Ways to have sex?
Ways to get high? Ways to avoid someone? Ways to confront someone?
Ways to spend the rest of your existence?
Whatever makes you "happy".
flood
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