The Depressed Reader

So long, and thanks for all the fish

2011-08-31T20:52:00.000-07:00

It has been a while since I started this blog. My first post was on June 26th last year, and I originally imagined that it would be a series of book reports written as I tried to mine a little happiness from each book that I ready. It started out like that, but quickly became a place for me to let out a bit more of myself, as much as I felt comfortable in posting.

It helped. Writing a weekly blog helped me to focus a little, gave me an outlet for my writing, and enabled me to vent. It let me feel that people were hearing me, and it also let me contact a lot of other bloggers going through similar issues. In no particular order, I enjoyed reading the blogs of and interacting with, in no particular order, CID, Susan, Jen, 4-Lorn, Lil, Stephi, Nick, In The Pink, Snowbrush, Up The Mountain, Anonymous, Wendy, and many others who have dropped by my blog over the months to post, or simply to read. It has been nice knowing that people were out there, people going through comparable experiences, or at least prepared to lend an ear or a shoulder to someone going through a rough time.

When I was first starting this blog I read a number of different blogs about depression, and I was frustrated by the way many of them seemed to only last for a post or two, or gradually trail off, or change topics to something less focused on depression or mental illness. I was in the grips of one of my worst bouts of depression, and I wanted to read about others who were in that state also.

But in the last few months I have come to understand why that happens with so many blogs. There is only so much to say. There is only so much it is beneficial to go over. And there is only so much that is safe to say online. As Stephi noted before, the internet can be a wolf in sheep's clothing, and it can be easy to let too much out.

But aside from the internet and related issues, the more I think about this blog and its focus of fighting depression, the less productive it seems to me at this point. The focus on fighting depression seems to me now like a man drowning in quicksand focusing on thrashing around and hitting the sand that traps him. It doesn't help him get out, and can drag him in deeper. Instead, it is better to focus on whatever lifeline is available. Dealing with depression is a part of my life, and I suspect that it always will be. But it can't be the focus of my life. That seems counter-productive, and my heart isn't in this blog anymore.

So I think I've said all I have to say on this blog. Thanks again to all of you who have spent time reading it, and my best wishes to you all. I think I'll close with a couple of words from Henry Rollins that have helped me.

Give your self a break from self-rejection,
Try some introspection,
And you just might find,
Its not so bad and anyway,
At the end of the day, all you have is yourself and your mind.
--Henry Rollins, Low Self Opinion

Japan by Night

2011-08-14T22:27:00.001-07:00

In my last post I was complaining about trouble getting to sleep. I am still having that trouble, but I am learning to manage it. A few weeks ago I was going to bed a bit after midnight and then tossing and turning, turning the light on, reading for a while, trying to sleep, failing, reading again.. then finally getting to sleep around 2 or 3 after hours of frustration. Once I am asleep I am okay, but getting to sleep is tough.

In the last few days I've been changing things up a little. It is August, which means that here in Japan it is very hot. This may have something to do with my sleeping problems, but I don't recall having this problem in previous years. In any case, it also means that the heat is pretty oppressive during the day and it feels a little like the sunlight is punching you, especially if you've decided to go running around in the midday sun, as I have been doing for the last few weeks. It means I do sweat a lot, which is good, but running is a struggle.

Anyway, in the last few days I've decided that it might be good to kill two birds with one stone, and started night running. It is not that much cooler than during the day, but the lack of glaring sunlight does help. In addition, there are not too many people about, and a lot less traffic on the roads. The feeling is a little bit different too, and while there are always some other joggers and random pedestrians running around, the city feels very different at night, particularly on weekend nights.

Japan is famous for being a safe place, and I've never felt in danger running around at night. The public toilets nearby are open and lit. Back home I would steer clear of them at night, but I have no hesitation about using them here. Last night I went out and ran for around 90 minutes by myself in a hilly area I hadn't been to before, which was nice. To some the near-empty streets might seem lonely, and they probably would to me if I were walking. But while running they feel okay, much more manageable that the crowded, yet incredibly isolating place that the streets of Japan usually are for me.

Then after the run I get home, eat something, shower and relax. I'm watching the first season of The Tudors and an hour of the machinations of Henry VIII and his courtiers is about enough to let the tiredness from the run and the day that has passed seep into my bones, and by the time the episode finishes I am almost tired enough to sleep.

A quiet evening

2011-07-31T07:54:00.001-07:00

Sunday evening has rolled around again. It is almost midnight as I write this. Today has been humid and rainy, and the city is quiet, the usual calm before the week starts again tomorrow morning. I went for a short run earlier, and while it was a bit painful it was good to get out there and do it.

I've run three times in the last week, short runs. Constantly having aches and pains related to running is an irritation, but it is better than the alternative, that being the state I find myself in if I don't run. Exercise is one of those things where you're damned if you do, and damned if you don't.

Over the last month I have been having a lot of trouble getting to sleep. I don't feel especially bad at night, but my body simply does not want to turn in for the night. It may be partly the warmer weather, and partly doing a bit less exercise than I was before. But it feels like more than that somehow. I hope that it passes quickly - I am getting tired of feeling fatigued during the day due to lack of sleep, then being unable to sleep properly at night despite being tired. Sleep is a simple thing, but it makes a huge difference.

I've been using some of my extra, unwanted waking time to read Game of Thrones, the first novel in George RR Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series. It is the first fantasy novel I have read in years, and it is very enjoyable. I really liked the first season of HBO's show based on Martin's story, and as I work my way through the book I find that the show is very faithful to the book. The people at HBO did a great job of realizing the world that Martin created in his book. Byzantine political machinations, a world with a history, a place similar enough to the history of our own world to be familiar, but different enough to be fascinating on its own terms.

As I work my way through the book, I find myself with a problem that faces all of us who find ourselves confronted with a good book or show - making it last. Some people sit down and read a book from cover to cover, or have a DVD marathon and watch all of a great series in one go. I always remember the case of an old university friend who, even after I warned him to ration it, insisted on going off and watching all of Band of Brothers in a single sitting. Unsurprisingly, he was pretty shell-shocked after that.

But for the most part, it isn't fear of bad effects that causes me to ration the good stories. It is wanting to extend the moment, to be able to spend longer in the various fantasy worlds, whether that is the Winterfell of Game of Thrones, the 1960s Madison Avenue of Mad Men, or the Baltimore corners of The Wire. Perhaps this is sad, that I need to depend on my time in fantasy-land to keep myself going. But sad or not, it is a necessity, and I'll keep rationing out the chapters as long as I can.

It is after midnight now, so i think I will turn in, read a final chapter, and then try to sleep. Hopefully this evenings short run will have convinced my body that it is time to sleep.

Sunday Night / Zombies

2011-07-24T08:55:00.001-07:00

Well, Monday morning, to be precise. But I thought I should probably try to get back into my habit of Sunday night posting. This week has been a long one, filled with confusion, weariness, and not enough sleep. But I got through it, and am ready to face the next one.

I haven't really exercised in the last week, after pushing myself a bit too much in previous weeks. Apart from the walking involved in my daily life I haven't really done anything, no riding or running. My legs feel a bit better, but I don't think it has been very good for my state of mind. If it isn't one part of my body letting me down it is another!

Anyway, aside from that I did manage to get a lot of things done this week. I'm still struggling with duller wits than usual, plus a memory that seems increasingly unreliable. So I've been using lists to try and get things done, and I've managed to knock off a few things that I've been procrastinating about for months. There are still more things to be done, always more things. But it is nice to have gotten a few things out of the way.

I also wandered down to the bookshop and poked around. I went looking for the Game of Thrones books by RR Martin, which I found, but instead I was diverted by the site of The New Dead, a zombie anthology featuring a story by Max Brooks of World War Z fame. I've just finished reading it, and while it had some good stories in it, it was definitely a mixed bag. Max Brooks' story "Closure, Limited" was actually not so great. "Lazarus" by John Connolly featuring as the first zombie didn't really work for me, and "What Maisie Knew" by David Liss, the story about sex with zombies was a bit much for me. I suppose I am a bit churlish being grossed out by a book about zombies, but still..

That said, there were some good entries. "The Wind Cries Mary" by Brian Keene was a very short but surprisingly touching lament for lost love, and "Twittering from the Circus of the Dead" by Joe Hill, written entirely in tweets, worked surprisingly well. "Shooting Pool" by Joe R Lansdale was noteworthy for not having any zombies of any kind in it. Probably the best story in the book was "Family Business" by Jonathan Maberry, a story of a bratty teenager living in a post-apocalyptic town, job-hunting while resenting his older brother the zombie slayer. It is the longest story in the collection, and probably the most enjoyable.

On other zombie-related topics, the movie of Brooks' WWZ is apparently filming now, and is due to be released next year. Brad Pitt is involved, and while his movies are definitely hit and miss for me, here's hoping he'll do another bang-up job like Fight Club or Snatch. The source material is great, and it sounds like the studio is throwing lots of money at it, so here's hoping it works out.

Finally, there is a teaser trailer out for season two of AMC's The Walking Dead. It looks like the second season will be just as awesome as the first one. There is a longer, five minute trailer out too, but I haven't watched it. I don't want to spoil any of the story for myself. I'm really looking forward to that, and can't wait to see what Rick Grimes and his motley group of survivors get up to in the next season.

Well, that's about all for now. Time to turn in and get rested up ready for another week. My best wishes to all of you out there.

Hitting a wall

2011-07-18T19:41:00.000-07:00

I've been feeling low recently. I feel like I'm in a fog. My memory feels worse than usual, and I have a bunch of things I want to do, but I can't seem to motivate myself to get things done. On a deeper level, there are things I know I need to do to try and deal with the root causes of why I have been slipping back and forth into states of depression, but I don't seem to have the guts to do them. And in addition to that, I am taking a break from running due to pushing myself too much over the last few weeks.

I haven't even been keeping up with blogging as much as I did before, in the past I put up a post as regular as clockwork every Sunday night, but the last month or so I haven't been so regular, nor so motivated to write anything.

Part of the reason is that unlike most bloggers, and perhaps missing the point of blogging, I don't want to put up much detail about myself. I never post about my family, my work, people I know or the specifics of my life. Nor do I really go into the details of my treatment, or many of the root causes of what has led me to this state. And as much as I'd like to be able to discuss these things with others who have similar experiences, I am wary about putting things online for anyone to read, knowing that it could come back to bite me later.

I seem to have hit a wall with the blog. I have things to write about, but don't feel comfortable in putting them out for the world to see. I've also hit a wall in my real life too, where I am starting to see what I need to do to maybe feel better, but I'm stuck. I feel like I need someone to help me reach the next level, but there is no one to do so. So I am stuck. It is a very bad feeling, and I know if I can't break through somehow things will continue to deteriorate.

Something's got to give, something's got to change. But I can't see how to do it by myself, and there doesn't seem to be anyone who is really willing and able to lend the helping hand that I need. So I'm stuck, writhing in frustration, unable to break free of this deep funk I am stuck in.

The Graveyard Post

2011-07-10T20:52:00.001-07:00

I was introduced to Neil Gaiman by a university friend back in the 90s, and really enjoyed his Sandman series of graphic novels. While most of the details of the plot have slipped from my mind, the feeling of being transported away to a world of magic, wonder, and adventure has stayed with me.

I hadn't read anything by Gaiman for a few years, but the other day I came across a copy of his children's novel The Graveyard Book in the local library, and thought it was about time to pay a visit to one of Gaiman's intricately crafted worlds. I am glad that I did.

It tells the story of Nobody Owens, a young boy who finds himself in a cemetery being raised by a community of ghosts, who all have something to teach him. It was a good read, written in classic Gaiman style. Much of what Gaiman writes follows a similar pattern, he uses elements of magic and the supernatural, a main character thrust into a world they do not really understand, plus a large amount of historical real-world research to give realism. It is a good mix, and even though the book is quite similar in general ways to Neverwhere and American Gods, it is such a pleasure to spend time in Gaiman's worlds that I don't really mind.

While some people find graveyards creepy, I grew up right next to one, and could look out the front window to see the rows upon rows of graves. Unlike the graveyard in Gaiman's book, which is no longer being used for new burials, the one across from my childhood home was, and is, still growing, so as the years passed gradually the number of graves grew. I didn't really think much about it at the time, but it was a good reminder that death is always on the march.

From time to time I've wandered among graveyards elsewhere, in Australia and in Japan. Gaiman made a good choice setting his story in an old graveyard, as they always seem to have more character. I remember wandering among a hilltop cemetery in an abandoned mining town, and visiting the grave of some of the first members of my family to come to Australia in the mid-19th century.

I've visited the Yokohama foreigner's cemetery too, which holds the remains of people from all over the world, who came to these shores and never left. After just finishing The Graveyard Book, I can't help but wonder what type of community might exist among the ghosts of those people, visitors, teachers, sailors, prisoners of war, and others who found themselves interred on that quiet hill in Yokohama. I can imagine the mixture of languages and views, those who came to love the land they made their home, and those who were bought here as slaves and never found their way home again.

I've been to Japanese cemeteries too. Cemeteries are almost always quiet, peaceful places, and I don't think that the dead really mind people coming by. In Japan cemeteries are generally located near Buddhist temples, and last year when I was in a bad way I was working nearby an old temple. I would often go there on breaks, and the quietness helped me to get through another day.

It has been a little while since I've visited a cemetery, and perhaps it would do me good to visit one again. It has been years since my visit to the Yokohama foreigners' cemetery, perhaps I should drop by again, and see if the residents have anything to teach me.

Another Dawn

2011-07-03T07:55:00.001-07:00

A year ago I thought this was a sight I would never see again, that I had seen my last Fuji sunrise. But it was not. I managed to get my depression and anxiety somewhat under control, and so didn't leave Japan. Fuji is still here, and so am I.

I'm tempted to go over all the things, mostly about myself, that I am unhappy with. But after reading a superb post by Jen I've decided to look on the bright side of life instead.

In the last twelve months since I started this blog I have been through a lot, and I have pushed myself as much as possible to try and shake, or at least partially domesticate, this black dog. I haven't really made amazing progress, but I have made some. I've tried to be healthier in general, eating better, exercising more, trying to sleep well. Physically, I feel better after Mt Fuji this time than I ever have before.

I've rediscovered some hobbies, and tried to reach out socially. I will never be a social butterfly, but I have been really trying, and it has helped a little. It is hard trying to keep my depression under wraps as much as possible, as my first instinct is to just blurt everything out. But I know from past experience that this is not really a good idea. I'm trying to come out of my shell a little bit, but not too much.

Living in a place where I don't speak the language well no doubt contributes to my depression, but while I am often unhappy, I am in a situation that lets me meet interesting people from all over the world, from all walks of life. Most people I know on a very basic level, but sometimes it is deeper. And when we get past the skin color, the language, the country of origin, we are all basically the same.

We are all struggling with life. Everyone has issues, whether they be with family, work, alcohol, money, or whatever. For some of us the issues get to the level of making us dysfunctional, but everyone struggles with them to some degree.

While I never quite identified it as such, in the past I loathed myself, the ways I lack, the life I have led. And I felt that I needed forgiveness and acceptance from others to make me whole. But it doesn't seem that things work that way. I'm not sure that anyone else can make us whole, I think that it is up to us to do it.

And whether or not we are on Mt Fuji, each day brings a new dawn. The sun rises, the clouds part. Light fills the world, and we have a whole new day to try.

What do we say to the god of death?

2011-06-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

I just got through watching the first season of HBO’s Game of Thrones, it was a lot of fun. I was really big on fantasy when I was a teenager, reading a lot of D&D related books, Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, and so on. I never read anything by George RR Martin. In fact, I haven’t read anything in the fantasy genre for probably about a decade, since re-reading Tolkein’s books before Peter Jackson’s films came out. I had left the worlds of fantasy far behind.

But a few months back someone who had read Martin’s series was raving about it, and telling me that I had to watch the series. I wasn’t particularly keen, but tuned in knowing nothing at all about the story.

It is quite a good series. There is a lot of good acting, interesting characters, and a medieval world similar enough to ours to be familiar, but different enough to be intriguing. Where no one lives forever.

Which brings me back to the title of this post, a line spoken by a minor character, a fencing teacher to his young charge; “What do we say to the god of death? Not today.“ Despite all the interesting characters and remarkable scenes, it is that single line that has stuck with me the most.

The reason is not too hard to figure out of course. I’m still fighting depression, and while I am not suicidal, it is tough to get through every day. But no matter. For me it is not so much the god of death as the god of despair, of hopelessness. Of giving in and falling apart. And maybe that will happen someday. We are all mortal, and in the long run we are all fighting a losing battle.

The other day as I was out running in the blazing sunlight, sweating, suncream dripping into my eyes, my legs hurting. I wanted to stop exercising, to just say “bugger it” and give up and just shuffle home. But those two words came back to my mind, and I kept running, kept up the exercise routine that is helping to keep me sane.

The end will come someday. But it didn’t come that day. It didn’t come yesterday. And it won’t be today either. The god of death, along with his buddies, despair, delusion and defeat, can all bugger off as far as I'm concerned!

Library stamps

2011-06-19T05:58:00.000-07:00

The other day I went down to the local library and wandered around looking for a book. I eventually settled on Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables. I’d read it once before, at least six or seven years ago, and I thought I might take another trip through Hugo’s epic tome.

As with all libraries these days, the book has a barcode and is scanned, and a slip printed with the due date. After I took the book home, I noticed that someone had left their slip in the middle of the book. They’d borrowed it two years before, at the same time as an issue of GC magazine. What kind of person was this?

During the 90s libraries changed over from the old system of having a slip of paper to stamp the return date to the barcode system, and I’ve always felt that something was lost in the reading experience. Not a big thing, of course, the book is still the same, and from the library’s point of view it is no doubt better, as they can keep better records on which books are popular, how often they are borrowed, and so on.

The books that are consistently popular were not so interesting, they just had an endless series of date stamps as one person after another borrowed them. But I was always more interested in the books more rarely borrowed.

Who borrowed this book three times in a row ten years ago? Was it the same person? Why had no one else borrowed it? What type of person were they like? Were they like me? Would we have anything in common?

With the switch to digitization, this little part of the library reading experience has gone, and apart from judging by wear and tear on the books, it is hard to tell if a book has been borrowed all the time, or never left the shelf since the library bought it.

But looking at the print-out slip left behind in the middle of Les Mis, I wondered about the person who had left it. Had they been using the slip as a bookmark, and did they give up reading Les Mis half way through? Or did they just absent-mindedly pop it in there after they finished reading? Were they a deep thinker who borrowed GC in a futile attempt to become more fashionable, or a metrosexual who borrowed Les Mis in a futile attempt to become better read? Or were they just like me, someone who picks up different reading material on a whim?

I guess I will never know. But I'm glad that I stumbled on the slip that made me wonder this. It almost tempts me to get out unusual combinations of books together, then leave the slip in one of the book for future borrowers to find.

18k / Lists

2011-06-05T07:23:00.000-07:00

It is Friday here in Tokyo. The rainy season has come, and it was raining for most of the day yesterday. But today was nice so I went out for a run. It was a bit humid but I went anyway. At first it felt kind of heavy, and I have had some foot pain recently. But I persisted and kept running. I took short breaks to drink and use the public toilets, and took the opportunity to stretch a little bit each time.

I had been intending to run 5 or 10 kilometers, but in the end I wound up doing about 18. My pace was relatively slow, about 90 minutes, but I’m happy with that. Before I always wanted to keep running the whole time, but that is less fun and limits my distance. My feet were a bit sore by the time I finished, but I felt a real sense of accomplishment. Tomorrow I will most likely feel a real sense of discomfort, but it will be worth it.

Moving on.. the other day I met a friend who told me about his list system for getting things done. It is pretty simple, he has the same list every day more or less, and if the things on it are not necessary for that day he just skips over it and moves on to the next thing.

Lists are something that I do on and off. They do seem to help me to get things done, but so far I have not been able to write them consistently. I keep it up for a few days or so and then lapse again. Then a week or two later I do it again for a few days.

I am the kind of person who likes routines and responds to things being orderly and predictable. As I blogged about in the last post, I’m also a person with memory issues, so lists are a good fit for me.

So, why haven’t I been able to continue with the writing of lists, despite the fact I know they help? Writing down tasks and crossing them off is satisfying, and it seems that writing things down means that they are more likely to be done. So why haven’t I been able to do it?

Perhaps part of the reason is that I have not had anyone to keep my honest about it, and I am prone to procrastinating. Perhaps a public statement that I’m going to work out a list system and then stick to it will help, so that is what this post will be.

Over the next week I’m going to work out a format for a list that I can stick to, and then start actually using it. There will be some trial and error, but I think this is something that could really help me be more effective and a bit more functional. And hopefully, a little happier.

Memory

2011-05-29T07:02:00.000-07:00

I am not quite sure what happened to my memory. I am barely in my mid-30s, but things just don’t seem to stick anymore. My memory has never been particularly great, but these days especially, everything seems to just go in one ear and out the other. And that is really pissing me off.

At the risk of sounding kind of nerdy, when I was a teenager I could remember things much better. I was no genius then either, but I seemed to be able to keep things in my head better. I was never any good at maths or science subjects, nor was I any good at French, which for reasons which were never entirely clear, was the foreign language at my school. I was much better at English, history, literature, legal studies. On a nerdier note, I could remember most of the dialogue from the original Star Wars trilogy verbatim.

The fifteen years since then have gone by very fast, and I don’t have much to show for them. But I do have a memory that seems a lot worse than it used to be. I don’t think this can really be due to age. Early-onset Alzheimer’s seems rather unlikely. Part of it is probably due to depression. Some of it may be from side-effects of medication. Some of it may be due to being socially isolated. But whatever the reason, it is frustrating as hell.

It probably isn’t just memory either. My ability to really comprehend, to take things in is not great either. And a lousy ability to understand combined with a lousy ability to retain things is, well, a pretty lousy combination!

I’m frustrated as hell about the whole thing, and I don’t know what to do. I eat pretty healthy, I exercise more than many people do. I tried doing a “brain training” book for about a year but it didn’t seem to really make much difference. I’ve tried to study Japanese probably about ten times since I moved to Japan and always give up for some reason or another without having improved much at all. I’ve tried to learn to play the guitar but nothing seems to stick there either.

I’m not quite sure what the point of this post is. Basically, I just wish I had a better brain that would allow me to have a better life. But that doesn’t seem to be on the cards, so I guess I have to struggle on with the one I was issued.

Barefoot in the Sunshine

2011-05-22T08:36:00.000-07:00

Tokyo had a lot of nice weather recently. The sun was warm but not hot, the humidity of the rainy season hasn’t come yet. The warm weather recently indicates we are probably in for another very hot summer, one that will probably come with blackouts or power restrictions given the loss of power from the tsunami damage to the nuclear plants. But for now, it is just a nice day to be out.

I have been feeling a bit up and down recently, so I thought it might be good to get out and get a little more exercise. I went running a few times in the last week, but I am planning to enter a few races this year, including the Osaka marathon in October, so I need to get out and do more distance for that. More importantly, I know that when I run more I feel better. So I threw on my shoes and my iPod and was out the door.

Last week I bought my first CD in some time, The Sound of Sunshine, by Michael Franti and Spearhead. It is a lot lighter and more joyful than a lot of their previous stuff, and as I jogged around I listened to a mix of it and a few other Franti albums. I couldn’t have asked for better audio accompaniment for my run.

I ran at a fairly slow speed, not pushing myself, just wanting to do the 10k with some enjoyment and a lack of pain. I did so, and about two thirds of the way through the run I reached, not exactly runners high, but a stage where I feel better. Where the sun, the run, and the music had flushed out my mind and body of at least some of its depression and anxiety.

At the end I checked my watch, it had taken a little over an hour. I stretched a little, and enjoyed the moment. Then I took off my shoes and socks and walked back home. I’ve been doing a little barefoot walking recently, and it is pretty enjoyable. It reminds me of being a kid, my feet touching the ground without being imprisoned in stiff shoes, being able to feel the texture, the temperature of the ground. It is a simple pleasure, but it is really something.

You would expect that the ground is rough and dangerous, but actually it is not bad. In Tokyo, despite a near-total lack of rubbish bins there is little litter, and while the pavement and roads are not exactly made of rubber, they are perfectly fine to walk on. I haven’t been to the beach for a long time, but I think I’d like to try and get there at some stage in the near future. I’d like to feel the sand between my toes, feel the sunshine, see the waves coming in. That’s definitely on my to-do list now.

Born to Run

2011-05-15T06:43:00.000-07:00

“The real reason we race isn’t so much to beat each other.. but to be with each other.”
-- Christopher McDougall, Born to Run

I have never liked sport. I’ve never liked watching it, doing it, or reading about it. I’m not terribly well coordinated, so I’ve never been particularly good at it either, although I do seem to remember being not too bad at playing dodgeball in high school.

Despite this, about eight or nine years ago I started running around the neighborhood occasionally. After I came to Japan I did it more, and in the first spring and summer I was here I ran a lot. I remember running late at night by myself enjoying the quiet, the warmth, the run.

Then came winter, and the gradual fall into depression, which I am yet to really escape almost five years later. The worse I felt, the less exercise I did. Gradually I improved a little, and while I have been up and down over the years, I’ve never really fully recovered. That first plunge down was not even the worst one. In fact, the major episodes seem to get worse each time. Whether this will continue to its logical conclusion remains to be seen.

One of the things I did last year to try and save myself was to start running more often, in a more consistent way. I did the the Tokyo marathon again, and have done a few other, shorter races too.

While I rarely feel the “runners high” that people often talk about, it can make me feel better. The physical exercise itself, but especially when I run with others. There is something that feels good about it on a basic level. Maybe it is just the natural combination of exercise and having company. But I can’t help feel that it is something else, that it is somehow more than just that.

I recently read McDougall’s book, in which he talks about persistence hunting, still practiced by the Kalahari bushmen in Africa, in which hunters working together can literally run an animal to death, and McDougall speculates that this may be at the root of our ability to run. Members of the tribe would run together, and be able to bring down game that they would never have been able to catch individually, and in doing so they would be able to feed the group.

I might be just deluding myself, or making too much of a simple thing. But when I run with others, even though we are simply running to keep ourselves healthy, I can’t help but wonder if that special feeling I can’t quite define is not the ghost of those long millennia of persistence hunters, generation after generation of runners working together to survive for another day. Maybe we are indeed born to run.

Pets and their passing

2011-05-08T05:48:00.000-07:00

In recent months a few bloggers have posted pet-related stories. Snowbrush posted about the death of his dog Baxter, and getting a new cat called Brewsky. Similarly, Stephi has written and posted some pictures about Milo, a new young cat (who turned out to be male!) that she rescued from being shot.

I enjoyed reading these posts, and while I have not had a pet for some years, it is always nice to read about others experiences. But I was especially moved by reading a new post from 4-Lorn. He wrote the entry about the life and death of his dog Townsend. I’m not going to summarize it, but if you like, you can read it here.

4-Lorn wrote about his experience in a very honest, very direct way. He usually blogs about his long and determined battle with depression, and his many attempts to find a solution. But in this post he really wrote something special.

His writing made me think a lot about my own experiences with pets. I haven’t had any pets since I was a kid, but at different times our family had frogs, fish, mice, birds, and at different times two dogs, a Border Collie and a Jack Russell. Both came to fairly sad ends, and after that the family never had any more pets. I think my parents made the decision that pets were too painful to have, and I can understand that, given the circumstances.

Having pets is painful, especially when it comes to dogs and cats. They enter our lives, and we watch them grow and change like a little furry human in fast-forward, see their eccentricities and quirks. See them grow up. And see them age. And before too long, we see them get sick. Or be injured. Or die. It is a painful thing.

We never really get over the death of a beloved pet. It has been almost twenty years, and despite the fact my memory is not what I would like it to be, I can still remember the feeling of those deaths just fine. It is not a good feeling.

In Australia and many other countries it is commonplace to have pets. But after I came to Japan I met many people who had never had any type of pet. Apartments are too small, and many prohibit residents from owning pets. So many Japanese people never had the chance to experience the joys and sadness of having a dog or cat. Some people actually rent dogs or cats, but that is hardly the same thing.

I don’t know what the future holds, and I may never have another pet. But I’m very glad that I was privileged enough to have many in my life when I was young, and while the pain of their loss has never gone away, it is the same for people we lose. And we don’t stop having people in our lives just because they will die someday, and I think the same can be true for pets.

In a previous post In the Pink awarded me an “Honest Scrap” award for my blog and asked me to pass it on. I’d like to give it to 4-Lorn for writing the post about Townsend. It is a great piece of writing, and I think Townsend was fortunate to be taken in by such a caring family.

Anzac Day

2011-05-01T07:13:00.000-07:00

This past Monday, April 25th, was Anzac Day in Australia. Anzac Day is a public holiday, the anniversary of the 1915 landings in Gallipoli in Turkey during world war one. British, Australian, New Zealand, and other allied troops invaded Turkey in an attempt to knock Turkey out of the war. This date is often given as the day Australia, then only an independent country for 14 years “came of age”.

Whether entering a war is a true test of coming of age is something that can be debated. But what can’t be argued with is that the Gallipoli campaign was a bloody, futile campaign that resulted in a decisive Turkish victory. The victory came at a huge cost – 44,092 allied dead, 96,937 allied wounded. The Turks, defending their home, lost far more, an estimated 86,692 dead, and 164,617 wounded. Altogether this adds up to almost 400,000 people, mostly young men, dead or wounded.

The most successful part of the campaign was the withdrawal. By December 20th 1915 all the allied troops had been withdrawn, leaving behind a peninsula criss-crossed with trenches, covered in shell craters, and soaked in the blood of hundreds of thousands of shattered lives.

Anzac Day is a day to reflect on those lost in war. As far back as recorded history takes us we find records of war. From the mess that is Afghanistan today, the trenches of World War One, Napoleon’s troops marching on Moscow, the crusaders sacking Jerusalem, the Romans razing Carthage and salting the earth, to Alexander’s troops carving up the Persian empire, we see troops on the move, cities on fire, rape, destruction, murder and theft, century after century. I am not enough of a dreamer to think this will ever come to an end.

But I’m enough of a dreamer to hope that it will. That some day the swords, rifles, and laser-guided bombs will be put aside, and we will find a better way.

I can’t help but think of a quote, very famous in Australia, from the first president of modern Turkey, Kemal Ataturk, who had fought at Gallipoli. Talking of the war, he said:

“Heroes who shed their blood and lost their lives! You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.”

That sentiment is only talking about one war, one set of enemies who have ceased to kill each other. But it is a start. And I hope someday such eloquence will not be needed ever again.

Happy snaps

2011-04-24T07:35:00.000-07:00

When I first came to Japan I took pictures all the time. Everything was new, so I wandered around taking pictures continually. I think we often do this when we travel to a new place. We notice the sounds and sights, historical buildings, interesting people, unfamiliar scenes. We record them as best we can.

I tend to take more when I am with other people. But I am with other people less than I would like, and in the last couple of years I haven’t taken many pictures at all. I catalog and order all the pictures I take on my hard disk, so it is easy to see how few times I have actually taken my camera out and taken pictures.

Recently I am trying to build better habits. To exercise three times a week. To play guitar a little each day. To eat better. To learn to cook a few more things. To keep my place tidy and organized. To take pictures more often.

Most pictures I take are not particularly good, and I really don’t have any idea about how to use a camera in more than a very basic way. But occasionally I do take photos that I am happy with. There is something satisfying about capturing a good image, especially if it is a thing that no one else seems to have noticed, or captured in quite the same way.

I have started carrying my camera around with me on a more regular basis. Sometimes I set out with a plan to take pictures of something, other times I happen across things that seem interesting and take a picture. I’ve put a couple of them on this blog, the guitar from the previous post, and the cherry blossoms from the post before that are my pictures.

They say that luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity, and this week I was in Osaka on one of my rare trips outside of Tokyo. The Japanese Mint is located there, and it is opened to the public for one week a year so we can enjoy the cherry blossoms located there. I happened to be nearby with a little time to kill, so I wandered through there and took a few pictures.

Making Better Habits

2011-04-16T15:23:00.001-07:00

Friday has rolled again. There have been no radical changes since last week. A little up, a little down. The main thing for this week has been trying to maintain the better habits I am in the process of establishing.

Every day I am playing my guitar (see left) a little. Some days I just pluck a few strings but mostly I spend 15 or 20 minutes doing some basic exercises from the guitar book or just generally playing around with it. It is somewhat calming, and gradually I am building up calluses on the ends of my fingers. That is something that I’ve had trouble with before, but hopefully continual effort will fix that problem.

Also I’ve been trying to exercise three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’m a creature of habit and if I can force myself to keep doing it each of those days I think the pattern will stick. Living in Japan means that I have a decent amount of walking in my daily life anyway, but having a run or yoga session three times a week seems to be good for me.

Before, whether it was running, playing guitar, or other things, I seem to set goals for myself that I’m not currently capable of achieving. I don’t achieve them, then I get into a spiral of disappointment, negativity, and all that good stuff.

Now I am trying to just do what I can, but do it on a set schedule, so while the effort I can put in varies, I am still working at things all the time. I’m not sure how much difference this will make, but time will tell.

Also, I’ve started taking pictures again. I have started taking my camera around with me on a regular basis so that if I see something interesting I can snap a picture. In the last weeks there were a lot of cherry blossoms on show, but I also took pictures of posters, street scenes, and miscellaneous other points of interest around town. I used to do this all the time when I first came to Japan, but gradually fell out of the habit. It is good to start again, and I’ll be posting some pics here.

Well, that is about all for now. Best wishes to all, and I hope that things are going well for you.

Running under the cherry blossoms

2011-04-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

“I have the same commitment everyday when I wake up – today I’m going to try my best, today I’m going to give it my all.”
--Dean Karnazes, ultra marathon runner

It is Friday again, and I just came back from a run around a park near my house. My legs got sore so I didn’t run as long as I would have liked. Still, it was good to see the cherry blossoms (picture above), which are in full bloom. Many people are walking around admiring them, some groups are picnicking and drinking under the trees, as Japanese have done for generations. There seems to be less people doing so than usual, in deference to the recent disaster, but people are still out and about.

I don’t feel great, but I am trying to do some simple things to keep my head above water. This week I went running three times, and I did a major spring clean. I threw out a bunch of junk that had been cluttering up my place for some time, and reorganized things. I have more space now, and I think having an organized place helps my state of mind.

In the midst of the spring clean I also pulled out my guitar. I bought an acoustic guitar years ago, before I came to Japan, and have attempted to learn how to play it on several occasions. I seem to find simple things very difficult to learn and remember, and this includes how to play music. On Wednesday I pulled out the guitar for the first time in a year and practiced some very simple exercises from the Mel Bay Grade 1 book. I told someone that I seem to pull out the guitar every year and realize that I don’t have guitar skills. He made the simple point that if I practiced every day, maybe I would realize that I did have guitar skills. I am only three days in at this point, but time will tell. Usually I get ashamed of my own inability to improve and give up.

While I was out running I was listening to the Radio National Breakfast podcast, and today’s included an interview with Dean Karnazes, an American runner who is running across the US. At the time of the interview he was in Missouri, heading for New York. He talked about how he took up running seriously because he was bored and in his regular life everything came easily to him, but he found an almost spiritual experience in his extreme runs.

As I, an Australian running under Tokyo’s cherry blossoms listened to him, an American charging across a entire continent, I thought about how different the two of us were. Unlike what Karnazes said about his own life, nothing seems to come easy to me. Every day is a struggle.

I’m not running because life is too simple and easy, but because for me it is too much to deal with. And some exercise, like therapy, medication, and other things, can help to take the edge off a little bit. I am very much a creature of habit, and I hope that by establishing better habits I can manage my condition a little better. I know this depression, this anxiety will never go away. It is part of me. But I need to learn to tame it, control it better. I hope I am on the way to doing that, I really do.

I am not capable of running across a continent. But I, like Karnazes, am capable of giving every day my all. And that's what I'm going to do.

March is Dead, Long Live April!

2011-04-03T08:23:00.000-07:00

It is another sunny Friday, the first day of April. Things are looking up a little bit since last week. Firstly, the horrible month that was March is over. Good riddance. For the first time in a month or so I went to a yoga class, which was nice. I also went running twice, over 5 km each time, for the first time in a month. There are no quick fixes, but being able to exercise again definitely helps.

This afternoon I got out and ran about 7km or so. It was nice to be outside. The weather was beautiful, a clear blue sky, strong sunlight and just a little bit of a cool breeze. The cherry blossoms are starting to come out now, and soon the parks will be full of people having hanami (Cherry-blossom viewing) parties.

I took my iPod along but didn’t bother to listen to it, I just ran. I’ve heard that putting too much pressure on the heel of the foot is bad, so I am trying to change my posture to land more on the front of my foot. It felt a bit awkward, but seemed to help. Exercise is essential to managing my mood, and having the continual small injuries that come from running incorrectly is not helpful at all.

There are many things that I would like to do or achieve, but until I can manage my depression more effectively I can’t do them. And the most effective way of dealing with the depression seems to be exercise. It doesn’t fix the underlying problems, but it helps my mood lift and gives me a chance to start working on other things, rather than being crushed under a cloud of misery, loneliness, and confusion.

As well as exercise being generally beneficial, I have found that ordeals like climbing Mt Fuji or running a marathon can provide a focus that allows everything to make sense, at least for a short time, for everything to be devoted towards a single goal. I’m not religious in any sense, but for me there is something transcendent in those experiences, and having them more frequently would probably be a good idea.

A couple of days after the earthquake I signed up to do the first Osaka marathon. I’m not sure if I will get in, as it will no doubt be popular. I should find out in May. But if not, there are other marathons that I can sign up for. I don’t think that running, or any kind of exercise by itself can help one banish depression entirely. But I think it can definitely be a major help.

March was a tough month, with recovering from the marathon, the earthquake and all its consequences, plus yet another visit from depression and anxiety. But March is over now. The sun is out, the flowers are blooming. In Japan, the fiscal year and the school year begin in April. The last month, the last year, were very rough. I’m looking forward to a new beginning.

Depressives don't get happy endings

2011-03-27T06:24:00.000-07:00

This would be the perfect moment for the curtain to drop, but depressives don't get happy endings. They don't get endings at all, because depression never goes away. It may be forgotten; it may lay quietly for years; but it's still there. Depressives never know when it will strike again, and every new episode increases the likelihood of another.
--Christopher McDougall, The Long Road Back

I'm writing this on Friday morning, and the sun is shining through the window. It seems like a beautiful day outside. I should go outside and get some sunlight, but I need to get something off my chest first.

It would be nice if the events of the last few weeks allowed me to simply throw off all the depression and anxiety like an old blanket and suddenly become healthy, having been confronted with a disaster, having kept my head and got through it without freaking out and running away unnecessarily as many expats (and not a few Japanese) did.

But that would be a happy Hollywood ending. The reality is, the last few weeks have been tough. While I have little right to complain compared to those in Tohoku who have lost homes, businesses, or loved ones in the recent disaster, in the last few weeks I have had a number of factors come together that have brought my depression to the fore.

Firstly, I have been attempting to taper off medication, after a long time on it. I hate being on medication and I mentally equate taking medication with being depressed. I’m aware this is irrational, but can’t seem to help it. I also worry about the long term consequences of being medicated, and have been troubled about things I have read online.

Secondly, after the marathon a month ago I have had some leg problems which have greatly reduced my ability to run. They are getting better with time, and I’ve been to the doctor and had a few massages but am still not back to 100%. I had started going to a yoga class in December but slipped out of the habit after the marathon. Exercise is very important in managing mood, and for the last month I haven’t been doing that.

Thirdly came the earthquake off Sendai in Miyagi prefecture, followed by the radiation scare at the nuclear plant in Fukushima prefecture. While what happened in Tokyo was very little compared to what the alarmist media reports said, and nothing at all compared to what those up north are enduring, it was a tense time. There are concerns about radioactive contamination in the water and in produce from near the reactor.

One might hope that this tense time would let me throw away my own petty concerns and depressions, but the three things above in combination were not much fun. I’ve been stressed, anxious, and had trouble concentrating. One of the most annoying things for me is the fact that I can’t seem to get my head around all these things about radiation, nuclear plants, etc. I read newspaper articles and it just does in one ear and out the other. Nothing seems to really stick, I can’t seem to hold on to it. The sober scientific reports indicated there was essentially no risk to Tokyo, but I can’t really grasp the details behind them. I just have to trust that the scientists know what they are talking about.

But I’m enduring as best I can. I’ve stopped tapering and increased the medication slightly. I’ve been starting to exercise again and hoping that helps lift my mood. I can’t do much about the larger disaster situation, but I’ve made small donations and am paying much less attention to the news. This all feels very selfish and self-centered, but you are no good to the world if you’re good to yourself. And I think I need to accept that I'm a depressive. That the depression will always be there. Denying that simple truth seems to be hurting me. And I'm pretty tired of self-inflicted pain at this point.

Depressives don't get happy endings. But food, shelter, another day above ground, and morning sunlight will have to do. I hope I'm turning a corner here - time will tell.

Earthquakes, nuclear disasters, and an alarmist media

2011-03-20T08:21:00.001-07:00

It has been a long week. Thank you to everyone who posted over the last week, I really appreciate it. It is now Sunday night, 9 days after the Tohoku earthquake. The earthquake caused a tsunami which pounded the coast of Tohoku, the region north of Tokyo. It destroyed ports, towns, cars, homes, and took an unknown number of lives. They are still counting the dead, still looking for the dead. The images which flooded the internet and the television look like a warzone.

In Tokyo, however, people have been somewhat distracted from the horror of the earthquake and tsunami's effects by the malfunctioning of the Fukushima I nuclear power plant. Located conveniently next to the ocean, its systems malfunctioned after a pounding by the tsunami, leading to a nuclear accident and frantic attempts to get the plant back under control. The first explosions took place on the day after the earthquake, and the situation deteriorated from there. Much has been written about the Tokyo Electric Power Company (TEPCO) and their less than stunning track record, and there has been a lot of criticism in the press of the government.

The thing that has really annoyed me, however, was the media. The situation is of course very bad. Reactor buildings exploding and increased radiation levels are generally not a good thing. But the media loves a good story, of course. And "the world is ending" is a much better story than "this is a problematic situation of limited scope that a lot of people are working hard to fix". I can't really talk directly about the nuclear situation, as I was not there, but I can talk about the situation in Tokyo.

Everyone was of course shaken up, both literally and figuratively, by the earthquake and its aftershocks, and by the news of what had happened in Tohoku. Then when the Fukushima plant became an issue in the days after the quake everyone started worrying about that. The French and Germans were the first to leave en masse, with their embassies advising their people to leave.

Over the next few days a number of other countries changed their advice and suggested that their citizens leave. Some countries, such as the US and UK, organized flights for their citizens out. Many people took to their heels and headed across to western Japan to await the worst. There were food shortages resulting from hoarding and power shortages that reduced lighting and train services. But the world didn't end. Media from all over the world, eager to scream and shout, were more than happy to find the most scared or paranoid person they could, interview them, and then broadcast their rantings as fact.

This led people overseas with family in Japan to freak out and demand that those living in Japan leave or go to another part of Japan before the nuclear plant blew up and spread radiation all over Tokyo, ushering in the end of the world as we know it. The scientists generally seemed to be saying that even in the worst case scenario Tokyo would be fine. But for the most part the media beat up the story as much as they could, creating an environment of fear that led some to flee. They didn't flee totally without reason, of course.

Last night I was in Shibuya for a goodbye party. Incidentally, this was for a planned departure, not for a "I'm freaking out and jumping on the first plane home" departure. It was a bit dimmer than usual, with some lights off to conserve power, and the huge screens over the Hachiko crossing not blasting J-pop for once. But the streets were still pretty crowded with young people in crazy clothes and odd hairstyles. The restaurants were still open. The convenience stores, like the supermarkets, are not quite as well stocked as usual, but they are far from empty.

The paranoia seems to be subsiding somewhat. I'm not sure if FDR was 100% correct when he said that "we have nothing to fear but fear itself", but he was definitely onto something. The worst appears to be over. I might be wrong, but I think from now things will gradually get back to normal, and the long slow task of rebuilding will begin. I am fortunate in that I don't know anyone who was killed or injured, but a lot of people have not been as fortunate. It definitely helps put things into perspective.

The Earthquake

2011-03-13T07:05:00.000-07:00

On Friday afternoon at 2:46pm what is now known to be a magnitude 9 earthquake occurred off the city of Sendai in Miyagi prefecture north of Tokyo. At the time I was in a subway station waiting for a train to come to transfer. Earthquakes are very common in Japan and I've never really given them too much thought. The ground shakes for a short time, then everything goes back to normal. Ho, hum.

For the first few seconds I was just expecting this would be the same thing. But the shaking was very violent, and it just kept going and going. I looked around and the other passengers waiting on the platform didn't seem to be going anywhere. The roof was shaking back and forth, the ground was shaking - everything was shaking. I looked at the ceiling and thought about how Japan has strict building codes, and that I probably should be okay. It felt a little unreal. I didn't feel like I was really in danger, nor did I feel any urgent need to get out.

After a minute or two the shaking stopped and I went out. I used my cellphone to update my Facebook status and people started commenting on it immediately, and updating their own. The phone network was totally overloaded and it was impossible to call anyone or get through by cellphone email, but the internet still worked fine and Facebook was the best way to contact people.

I walked to the office, buildings still shaking around me, the sidewalks full of people who had just been evacuated from their buildings. I met my coworkers, who were on the street outside. No one really knew what to do. There was a public announcement that said something about going to higher ground. Did we need to expect a tsunami? No one knew. The closest higher ground was a shrine nearby, so I suggested we go there. We made our way through the hordes of people and went up the stairs.

A coworker and I went to check on another coworker nearby who had been at the gym. He was still there working out, not letting an earthquake get in the way of his exercising! We wandered back to the group, bumping into various people we knew who were waiting outside their buildings. Everyone was freaked out.

The trains were all shut down. The roads were soon jammed with traffic. Taxis were impossible to get and even if they could be found they weren't moving very much. We searched for a place to stay, but everywhere was closing. Finally we found a coffee shop that was not so full, and someone got some snacks and a deck of playing cards and uno from the convenience store. We checked the news on our phones, followed other people's Facebook posts, tried to contract friends and relatives. The damage in Tokyo was limited, but the northern part of Japan was a disaster area, with horrific images of tsunamis hitting the land and destroying houses, fields, roads - and lives. No one knows the final death toll yet, but it will be high.

Eventually we gave up on waiting for the train and everyone decided to walk home. All over Tokyo many people did this, walking two, three, four, or five hours through the cold to get home. Or more. Eventually some trains started running but they were very overloaded. Fortunately I don't live so far from work, so it didn't take me so long to get home.

The aftershocks continued all Friday night and through Saturday. On Saturday the trains were running limited services, and the situation at Japan's nuclear power plants because a worry, especially in Fukushima prefecture, with an explosion at the Number 1 reactor. As I write this on Sunday I know that many expats, especially Germans and Americans are leaving. From tomorrow there will be rolling three-hour blackouts throughout different parts of Tokyo to conserve power. Needless to say, this is all very worrying.

I don't know what will happen. But what I do know is that the Japanese people are tough and resilient. And historically they have met much larger challenges than this. They were forced out of self-imposed isolation at American gunpoint in the 19th century, and within decades were a world power. After the 1923 great Kanto earthquake which leveled huge parts of Tokyo the city was quickly rebuilt. And after world war two, when the country had been totally devastated by bombing, it only took a few decades for Japan to become an economic power.

Japan today faces many challenges. It is politically unstable, with six prime ministers since I came to Japan, and every appearance that the current one is in a lot of trouble. Japan has an aging population, a huge suicide rate, an increasing income gap, and the loss of jobs overseas. But maybe, just maybe, this disaster might be the thing that pulls people together, and sets the country on a different path. I don't know. But I hope so.

Narwhals!

2011-03-06T07:21:00.000-08:00

This has been a pretty long week that has left me kind of drained, and I don't have a particular theme for tonight's blog, so like the goldfish that I am, I think I will write about the last thing that I saw. Narwhals!

CID imbedded the short music video of the Narwhal song in a recent post of his as an intermission between the doom and gloom. I think this was a great idea, and the song is also incredibly catchy. At times when I've been trying to think about and discuss serious things I can't help but think "Narwhals, Narwhals, swimming in the oceans, causing a commotion cause they are awesome.." If you haven't been blessed with the Narwhals, you can check them out here.

On the topic of music, I was happy that in a post about me In the Pink picked Cake's The Distance as my song. I remember that song from when I was at university, and I've been known to sing it at karaoke sometimes.

Speaking of going the distance, I have mostly recovered from the marathon last week. Monday was a write-off, I basically lay around and was in pain whenever I moved. Tuesday I felt better, although going up and down stairs was a bit rough. Wednesday I was better again, and I also went for a massage, which helped sort my legs out too. By Friday I was in my current condition, which is probably 80% or 90% recovered.

I haven't been out to run, but I hope to do so in the next day or so. It will probably be okay, I don't seem to have any major lasting pain. It is much better than 2007. And it is even better than after the half-marathon I did in November last year. That has to be a good sign. My body still has a lot of issues, but it does seem to be improving. I'll definitely sign up for next year's marathon, and I am even thinking about doing another one this year.

I hope this finds everyone well. It is now well after midnight, and I think sleep is calling. I hope you all have great weeks.

Tokyo Marathon revisited

2011-02-27T04:01:00.000-08:00

I ran. I ran until my muscles burned and my veins pumped battery acid. Then I ran some more.
--Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Today I ran the Tokyo marathon for the second time. The first time was in 2007, when I had been in Japan for almost a year. I was not ready for it, and had been depressed for several months by the time February 2007 rolled around. But I’m a stubborn sort, and I did it anyway. It took me about 6 hours and 15 minutes from start to finish.

I was in agony for weeks afterwards, and swore I would never run another marathon, that they were crazy things. But last year I started running regularly, and have run most weeks since May last year, sometimes more than once. And I decided to try the Tokyo marathon again. So now it is Sunday night, and I’m at home.

This year was better than 2007 in many ways. Firstly the weather – last time it was cold and rainy, and I ran wearing a disposable raincoat. I ran alone, and I ran fast, then ran out of energy and dragged myself the rest of the way. I ran in a cloud of depression too, as if the actual clouds and rain were not bad enough!

I’d be lying if I said this year’s marathon was a walk in the park, or that this year is when compared to 2007. But it has improved a lot. Today was warm and sunny in Tokyo. Also, I have made some jogging friends and did the marathon with them, at least for the first half, which helped a lot. In the second half I was on my own, and it was tougher going. But I did have a whole city cheering for me.

Many runners wore all kinds of costumes. There were ninjas, samurais, people dressed up as Pikachu or Spiderman. There was even a guy in a full Darth Vader costume, including lightsaber, and his personal stereo system blaring out his own theme music!

And hearing the crowds cheering was really nice. In the second half of the race, when I alternated between running and walking, a good motivator was running along the side of the road high-fiving all the people. Volunteers, kids, men and women, young and old. The shouts and cheers really helped a lot.

I had hoped to finish in around 5 hours, and while my final time was just under five and a half, I’m pretty happy with that. I beat my previous time by around 50 minutes, despite being 4 years older. I’m in pain, and I was in a lot of pain during the race. But that is okay. Life is pain. Much of this pain has no purpose and it is visited on us by things outside of our control.

But today’s pain had a purpose. It took me outside of myself for a while. Like when climbing Mt Fuji, my whole being was focused on one goal, and propelling myself one step at a time towards my destination. The people around me play a role, but in the end it is my strength, my will that makes a difference.

Waiting To See What She Will Do

2011-02-20T04:57:00.000-08:00

We walk down the hill together,
Past the flowers and round the bend,
Filled with life but walking so slow,
Never wanting this night to end.

All day I longed to hold her hand,
To run my fingers through her hair,
But I am much too shy for that,
As we walk in the warm night air.

She keeps her true self locked inside,
Hidden where no one else can see,
And I feel honored that she has,
Started to share herself with me.

The path is starting to run out,
And soon we will be in the town,
I force myself to move closer,
Glad that she doesn’t move or frown.

A thousand thoughts run through my head,
Is it too soon? Is it too late?
I do not want to screw this up,
Oh no – we’re passing the last gate!

She seems to give a slight smile,
Which is much too good to be true,
But I still reach out anyway,
Waiting to see what she will do.

We’ve touched before “by accident”,
For only a second or two,
And this moment drags on forever,
Waiting to see what she will do.

Then her fingers wrap around mine,
She says nothing, and nor do I,
We just walk forward together,
Smiling, and no longer so shy.

Alternatives

2011-02-13T06:00:00.000-08:00

Whenever I think of alternative medicine I always think of an old ad that used to be on TV in Australia in the 90s. It was for an insurance company, and showed a woman lying down on a table, while a man chanted something and banged two large fish together over her back. The gist of the ad was that the company covered everything.. well, almost everything.

Last year I started trying a few different things I never would have thought I would ever try. I went to acupuncture weekly for almost two months. It was very relaxing, but I am not sure that it was anything more than that.

I also went to a chiropractor/masseur, who took one look at me and said I was in terrible shape. He really went to town on me, especially on my feet and legs. I felt something like bread dough probably feels like when it is being kneaded.

Despite this, (or perhaps because of it – I am something of a masochist!) I’ve been back to see him on a regular basis since then, and despite the fact that the sessions can be quite painful, I do seem better afterwards. While what he does doesn’t seem to address my state of mind directly, it does help my body get into slightly less twisted shape. And that can’t help but benefit anyone’s state of mind.

Late last year a friend recommended that I try yoga, saying that it helped them with running. So I decided to give it a go, and went along. It was hard! I wouldn’t have thought that it was so strenuous to go into simple poses, but apparently it is. I have never been the most well coordinated person, but doing some simple yoga seems to help a bit.

I don’t really buy into the spiritual side of it, and one class I went to about chakras made me feel downright uncomfortable. Not physically, but there was just something that felt wrong somehow. I’m not sure if this is just a hangover from the Christian indoctrination of my youth, my innate skepticism about and disdain for religiosity or what, but whatever it was, I just didn’t feel comfortable.

However, the other class I went to was fine. It was basically a long series of different kinds of stretching exercises. I’ve been to the class a number of times now and it seems good for me on a few levels.

It is physically challenging but not dangerous, and there is qualified supervision. It gives me a different type of exercise to running, and is a more active way of putting my body the way it should be than getting kneaded. In addition, it is a peaceful and relaxing environment, and a group activity.

I don’t have any immediate plans to try any other alternative therapies, but I would be interested to hear about the experiences that others have had with alterative treatments.

Goodbye Vic Mackey

2011-02-06T06:00:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I finished watching Season 7 of The Shield. I watched the show from the beginning, back when I was in Australia and watched it online as the seasons progressed. But yesterday I finished watching the final season on DVD for the first time, to really mixed emotions.

For those unfamiliar with the show, it tells the story of Vic Mackey and his strike team, a bunch of corrupt cops in the fictional Farmington district of Los Angeles. Mackey was a thug and a murderer, but also a highly intelligent and charismatic operator who closed cases that others could not.

While the show was always dark, in the last few seasons, especially the final one, it was almost entirely bleak. The frenetic action never really slowed down, but it was clear that in many ways there was no point. Mackey and his guys had lost their souls long ago. Without ruining anything for those of you who may watch it some day, they all reap what they have sown.

The show had a lot to say, but it usually didn’t come right out and say it. It usually followed the maxim of “show, don’t tell”, to demonstrate what policework can do to people, the way people can give in to temptation – or not, the futility of the war on drugs. And it showed a little something about the human condition. For the first four seasons we could cheer on the cops, both good and bad, as they tried to close cases by whatever means they could.

But it wasn’t until the fifth season, when an Internal Affairs investigation started, that those methods were used on the characters we had come to know and care for over the previous years. The pressure, lies, threats, and intimidation were now used on the characters we knew and cared about, not on a random suspect-of-the-week. And they looked a lot less clever and a lot more brutal now that we knew those who were being subjected to them.

The writers behind the show did an amazing job of making us care, and they just got better as the years went on. The show became less enjoyable, but not less compelling. The acting was often top-notch as well, and some of Michael Chiklis’ most impressive moments as Vic Mackey were in the last season. Many of them were completely silent, as he was forced to confront what he was, what he had done.

This is the second time I’ve watched the series, and I don’t think I will watch it again for many years. But I’m glad I spent the time I did with Vic, Shane, Lem, Ronnie, Danny, Julian, Dutch, Claudette, Tina, Steve, David, and the countless other characters that made the world of Farmington a very real one.

A Prayer In the Night

2011-01-30T05:57:00.000-08:00

I felt awful. It was after midnight, and I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, as I had been doing for the last hour or two. I hid under the blankets. I wished that I wasn’t alone. I wished that I could call someone. Therapy and psychiatry weren’t doing it for me. I wished that I was loved, that someone, anyone, was there to hold me.

Life had taken its twists and turns and I had found myself in Tokyo, staring at the ceiling, gripped by severe depression, incredibly alone. Longing, needing help, needing someone, anyone, to look after me. So I decided to pray.

Despite the fact that I’ve never seen any reasons to believe god exists, the childhood indoctrination I received has never entirely gone away. While I swear like a sailor at times, I basically never blaspheme.

Some part of me still believes in the notion that god is out there somewhere and wants to look after us, that non-Christian religions are somehow malign, and that there is a heaven and hell that we get sent to after we die. That we really do have souls, despite a lack of any good reason to think so.

So I sat up, pushed the blankets back, got on my knees and prayed. Said that I needed help. That if god would talk to me, give me some sign that he was real, I would believe. That if there was any time when I was open to being changed, it was now. And I waited. And waited some more. And received the answer I had expected. Silence.

I flopped back into bed, and eventually managed to get to sleep. I got through the next day. And the day after that. And so on until the present day. I’ve been up and down, and have managed to reach some level of stability through learning to deal with my depression and learning to be more accepting of myself, and of others. I am very far from perfect, but I am also very far from the person who first fell into prolonged depression four years ago.

It is irrational, but even now there is some small part of me that feels vaguely guilty, that maybe I didn’t pray hard enough, that maybe I am being tested somehow. That I need to have “faith” and then I will see the light and be shown the path to salvation.

But the only light that ever comes is that of the morning sun, as another day dawns. Any path I find will be my own, but will not be to salvation or damnation. But it might just be to a better tomorrow.

There Is No Finish Line

2011-01-23T07:14:00.000-08:00

I had an attempt at a post on god, life, and the meaning of the universe, but it didn't come together very well. I think I need to bounce some ideas around in my head a little bit longer before they come together properly. So instead, I thought I might steal a title from Nike's admen and talk about running instead.

It is after midnight here in Tokyo. I just went out for a night run. It was cold and there was some light rain, but there wasn't any wind, so it wasn't too bad. I had to push myself a bit to do it, but I got my running gear on, my sneakers, running tights, t-shirt, hoodie, beanie and gloves. I put on my headphones, hit play on the iPod, and ran off into the night to the sound of AC/DC's Highway to Hell - that got me moving!

I probably ran for about 12 kilometers or so. I stopped and walked at some points, sometimes for a minute or two, sometimes for a song or two. Then I picked up the pace and started running again. Not pushing myself too much, but not slacking off too much either. A nice middle ground.

The 2011 Tokyo marathon is coming up in about a month, and I am not ready for it. I wasn't ready for it when I did it in 2007 either, but I managed to get through it, despite it being an agonizing experience. And despite not really being ready this year either, I am a little older and wiser than back in 2007.

My physical fitness is a bit better than it was in 2007, and my depression is not as bad either. Also, I have finally realized that I don't need to run like a kamikaze intent on obliterating myself, the way I used to in the past. It is okay to go slow. It is okay to walk for a time. The important thing is just to keep moving - and to do so sustainably.

I think when I do the marathon a month from now I will most likely do some version of running for ten minutes, walking for two. I have tried it out at shorter distances, and it really does seem to make the run easier. Back in November I did a half marathon where I stubbornly ran the whole distance, despite the fact that alternating walking and running would have probably made me a bit faster. This was pointed out to me while I was doing it. But I wasn't capable of not forcing myself to "run" at that race.

I had quite a lot of pain after that run, and that combined with a few conversations with other runners led me to finally become a bit more reasonable, a bit more flexible in my approach. I think I needed both the pain, plus the advice from others who had been down the same road before me, to help me realize that the way I was doing things were damaging me.

It took a long time, but I finally made the realization. Many things seem to be like this. But life is long. I have time to figure these things out. And I'm beginning to think that I will, one of these days.

Well-meaning Christians

2011-01-16T07:16:00.000-08:00

CID recently posted about a guy he used to know when he was a born-again Christian stalking him on facebook. CID talked a little about how this guy would target people who were lonely and vulnerable and use their weaknesses to pull them into the flock. I found this interesting because in recent times I had a couple of well-meaning Christians effectively try to tell me that Jesus was the only way to really recover from depression. The same old story that I am sure many of us have heard in varying forms before.

I know where these people are coming from. And on a certain level I have more respect for the bible-thumping fundamentalist than for the vague Christian whose beliefs don't boil down to much of anything. And don't even get me started on the "I'm not religious but I'm spiritual" crowd whose beliefs seem to add up to the wonderfully enlightened "I believe there is something out there..."

When it comes to Christianity, the bible is ultimately the big book of multiple choice, which can be used to justify anything from pacifism to slavery and genocide. And Christianity is a dualistic religion in which there is good and bad, and if you aren't going to heaven, you're going to hell. And if this is the case, any good Christian must do all within their power to prevent that from happening. Even saving one soul from eternal damnation is worth a lifetime of work. I get it.

I get it, but I don't buy it. I went to church until I was about 15. I found it to be a terribly boring place to be. As many of the churches in Australia are, it was in the process of dying, and the vast majority of the congregation were aged 60 or above. My main memories of it are simply of being bored on the hard bucket chairs. At some point when I was around 15 I started actually paying attention to the words of the hymns, and I was appalled. They were full of toadying towards god, terrible self-loathing, and an incredible amount of fear.

They showed a world in which there was a god who created the universe and everything in it, who had unlimited power and knowledge. Yet they also showed a god so insecure that he needed his tiny creations to worship and praise him, to accept him as the most important thing in their lives. For all these creations were wretched sinners, so loathsome and defiled that god had found it necessary to sacrifice himself to himself on the cross to forgive the punishment that he himself had meted out to their ancestors for disobeying him and eating from the tree that gave knowledge of good and evil. A talking snake was involved, and it was never quite clear how Adam and Eve knew that disobeying god was wrong before they had knowledge of god and evil.

The story didn't make a huge amount of sense. But the thing that struck me most powerfully was that even if all of these things were somehow true, the god depicted in this story was far from being worthy of worship. He was petty and spiteful, and prepared to punish forever those who decided not to believe in him. And the way everything he did was justified simply by the fact he was god never seemed really satisfying. A mob boss has power, and can compel obedience. But that doesn't mean he is worthy of respect. It just means he is a mob boss who can compel obedience.

I don't wish this to turn into too much of a rant. But I think that life is a very tricky thing, full of challenges, setbacks, and problems. People are flawed and selfish, lazy and illogical. But we are not damned. And despite being a depressive who has thought pretty of terrible things about myself, I fail to see how viewing myself as an evil wretch who can only be redeemed by the grace of the god who cursed my ancestors for theft of a piece of fruit is a step in the right direction.

I don't think there are any saviors. No angels. No demons. Just us. And that is more than enough.

Living Vicariously

2011-01-09T07:33:00.000-08:00

The last week has not been much fun. There have been no major changes that prompted my mood to drop, although there have been a few stressors. I get better, I get worse. Life goes on. I don’t think that I’m ever going to get really clear of this damned black dog. But after a certain amount of trips around the merry-go-round of depression I manage to endure it as best I can.

One way I do this is by living vicariously via quality TV. A number of shows have been a huge comfort and welcome distraction during my lower times – mostly American cable TV series. The Wire, The Shield, Rome, Six Feet Under, Mad Men and Breaking Bad, among others, have helped me through some rough times. I can’t tolerate idiotic television anymore, but watching something of substance is a great help to me.

Most recently I’ve been living vicariously in the 1870s, rewatching the second season of Deadwood. Despite being Australian, I grew up watching reruns of Westerns on weekend afternoons, watching John Wayne charge with the cavalry and gun down Indians. Later I appreciated Clint Eastwood’s Westerns – The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly, The Outlaw Josey Wales, and Unforgiven almost seem like a trilogy to me, marking the evolution of Eastwood and the genre.

But I hadn’t watched Westerns for some years when Deadwood came around. A HBO series that ran from 2004 to 2006, it was based around the true story of Deadwood, South Dakota, a small mining settlement illegally founded on Indian territory after gold is discovered. All sorts of people are drawn there in search of their fortune, some to find gold, others to make their fortune by fleecing the miners.

Many of the characters were based on real people, and the most memorable of them would have to be Al Swearengen. A foul-mouthed, woman-beating, murderer, pimp and saloon owner, he nevertheless comes across as being human, believable, and even vulnerable, thanks to a superb performance by Ian McShane.

Swearengen, despite being a real bastard who earned the unpleasant death he received in real life, was apparently quite a smooth operator. And in the series as well, he dominates practically every scene he is in. Despite his many faults, he has the odd word of wisdom to dispense. One short scene that has kept me going several times is viewable below.

Lessons learned

2011-01-02T01:54:00.000-08:00

2010 was quite a year. I began it feeling relatively okay, then over the next few months I gradually deteriorated to the point where I was in the deepest despair I have ever been in. I reached the point where I basically wanted to die, where not waking up would have been perfectly okay by me. How did I get to that point?

It was a combination of things. Loneliness, lack of purpose, feeling like a failure, self-loathing, a bunch of other stuff, plus the minor issue of having a giant hole at the core of my being that nothing could fill. Living in a country where I have never really felt comfortable didn’t help either – but then again, I was never that comfortable back in Australia either.

I’m writing this on New Year’s Eve, alone at home as the minutes tick closer to midnight. Last year I also spent New Year’s Eve at home, but then I felt so utterly lonely and abandoned. I desperately needed company, but at the same time, I know now that if I had received that company, it wouldn’t have really have done what I wanted it to. No one can save us except for ourselves.

Over the course of this year I did so many things to try and improve my state of mind. I started reaching out to people more, and came to realize that other people I know have fought – and are still fighting – the same battles against depression that I face. This helped me feel a bit less alone in my misery. And I also finally realized that only people who have been down these roads can really understand. Demanding understanding and help from those who have not been there themselves can end with incomprehension and frustration on both sides.

Blogging definitely helped. I am a creature of habit, and having a self-imposed deadline to write something of significance once a week was good, and it bought me into contact with so many people online that I have learned many things from – Wendy, Takashi, CID, Susan, Jen, Snowbrush, 4-Lorn, In The Pink, and many more.

I also started forcing myself to get out of the house and start taking part in more social activities and exercise. These started to give me a little more of a social outlet, and also provided a sense of purpose, a way to connect with the world around me.

I began to realize that my struggles paled into insignificance when compared to some of the larger issues out there. And while ignoring my own state is not useful, taking part in other struggles, working on other projects to help people other than myself was good for me and somewhat beneficial for the world around me.

As for the self-loathing and feelings of being a failure, they are still there. But the realization that choice is largely illusory, and that we are all doing the best we can, has done a lot to dispose of the feelings of “should” that has beaten me into the ground for a long time.

Things are not perfect. They never will be. But I have come a long way in the last year. So bring it on 2011. I’m ready for you!

Feeling Good About Feeling Bad

2010-12-26T04:27:00.000-08:00

I’m not sure if other people experience this, but something I’ve found to be particularly frustrating about feeling bad is the way it tends to make me bad. What I mean is, I feel bad over something, then it builds on itself, and I feel bad for feeling bad. And on the downward spiral goes.

A typical example would be when I try to remember something that I feel I should know. I’m not sure if it is my imagination, but my memory seems to be a lot worse than it used to be. I don’t have any memory tests to judge it by, but given that I am gradually getting older, have been dealing with depression and anxiety for some time, and didn’t have the greatest memory to begin with, it doesn’t seem a stretch that my memory has gotten worse.

I will try to remember something from the past, sometimes in response to a question, sometimes just because I am trying to recall a name or a fact for myself. I try to remember but can’t. Then I get a bit frustrated. I try to remember. I try to force myself to remember. It generally doesn’t work, and then I often go into a self-hating spiral of thinking, something along the lines of “Why the hell can’t I remember this simple thing? I should be able to! Why do I have such a shit brain?”

The same thing happens in large social situations, where I have always felt uncomfortable. I then feel bad about feeling bad, and sometimes leave feeling exhausted, thinking something like “I’ve been dealing with people my whole life, and I suck at it! I should have figured out how to do this by now! I suck!”

I could go on, but I think you get the picture. The word “should” tends to feature prominently, along with feelings in inadequacy, stupidity, and a general sense of being a total failure.

Although I am not quite at the stage where I am feeling good about feeling bad, I am gradually reaching the stage where feeling bad doesn’t make me feel worse. When I can’t remember something, where I feel awkward in a social situation or say something stupid, I feel the annoyance, but I don’t seem to feel the need to beat myself up about it quite so much anymore.

I think that I am doing the best that I can. I think that we all are. I am increasingly coming to believe that there is no free will that exists magically independent of the million things that have led up to the current moment. I think things are the way they are, and could not be otherwise. That being the case, “should” is meaningless. The psychologist Albert Ellis used to refer to people having unhelpful mental habits of “shoulding all over themselves” or "musterbating" and making themselves feel terrible, and I think he was on to something.

I don't seem to have such a strong need to "should" myself these days. I seem to have less stress and more acceptance of the way things are. I'd like this to continue into the future, and just maybe I'll find a little more peace.

Christmas

2010-12-19T06:51:00.001-08:00

December is here, and Christmas is just a few days away. Christmas is supposed to be the time when friends and families come together as one and enjoy one another’s company, exchange presents, and maybe go to church if they are religious.

For a long time I’ve been ambivalent towards Christmas and other holidays. They have often been the times that I have felt most miserable and most alone. When I have felt the most lacking. And the yearly rituals are a reminder that another year has gone by in which I’ve failed to achieve anything substantial, while those around me seem to be speeding towards their goals.

This year, it doesn’t bother me so much. I’m still suffering from depression and anxiety, and probably always will be. Loneliness has not gone away. But I have made a lot of progress towards accepting myself as I am, and also in being able to try different approaches to dealing with my depression. There is no magic solution, but this year I worked extremely hard to keep myself going, and it seems to have paid off.

It has been a rough ride, but I’ve made it through 2010. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know that I am more capable than I have ever been of facing it. For a long time I wanted other people to reach out and save me, and that desire, while understandable, was not really helpful. I did receive help here and there, and I appreciate it greatly, but for the most part I have made it on my own. In the end, I think we all do this – or don’t, as the case may be. Despite what we might want, no one can be there for us all the time, this is the way life is.

I think embracing the way life is, the way the world really works, is the key to getting through. When it comes right down to it, I don’t think we have much choice in life at all. Most things are out of our control, and usually not the way we would like them to be. The holiday season is no different.

I won’t be having a wonderful Christmas, but I will get through it okay. Maybe next year will be different, maybe it will not. Time will tell I suppose. Until then, I’ll keep plodding along the best I can. I appreciate everyone’s visits and comments over the 6 months I have been writing this blog, and I plan to keep writing it.

Well, that is about all for this week. I’ll leave you with what I think is the best Christmas song of all time, Fairytale of New York by Kirsty MacColl and the Pogues. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas and a happy new year to you all!

This I Believe

2010-12-12T07:03:00.000-08:00

For a few years I’ve been listening to the podcast This I Believe. Each episode is a statement of belief from an individual, some famous, some just everyday people like you and me. It was originally an American radio program done by Edward R Murrow in the 1950s, and was brought back by NPR in the 2000s. Some statements I nod in agreement with, others make me want to argue with the speaker. But they are all heartfelt and considered, and they all make me think.

After reading one of In the Pink’s posts, I was inspired to write my own statement of belief. If you have the time, I’d be interested to hear what you believe in too.

More than anything, I believe in the power of the truth. And I believe the best things come when the truth is spoken and acted upon. Without truth, we have nothing.

I believe that all we are is a brain in a body, in the physical universe. No souls, no gods, no angels and demons. Just the world around us. And the world around us is plenty. In a lot of ways I think we trivialize the world when we anthropomorphize it.

Contrary to what many would like to believe, there is no skydaddy, nor guardian angels or spirits of our ancestors coming to save us. It is essential to realize that any saving will be done by ourselves or by the real people in our lives.

I believe that there are many things wrong with the world, and that to be a fully satisfied human being it is necessary to stand up and be counted when wrongs are being committed. I believe that the apathy, cowardice, and selfishness that I see so often displayed in the world around me is unacceptable.

I believe in treating others as I would wish to be treated, and I do this as much as possible. I believe that ethics do not require any supernatural backing to be valid. To the contrary, I find the actions of the god of Christianity in particular to be terribly immoral. A being of infinite capacity that needs to be worshiped by his puny creations, and who tortures them for eternity if they refuse? For a long time I have failed to see how such a being would be worthy of respect, much less be capable of generating a workable moral code.

I believe that in a civilized society we all have the right to freedom of speech, association, religion, and expression. This rights have generally been gained through struggle, not given from on high. I also believe that we have the obligation to make our voices heard as citizens, and to speak truth to power. For those of us fortunate enough to live in democracies, I believe that voting is a duty, not only a right.

Finally, more than anything, I believe that action is the only thing that changes us or the world around us. Talk is cheap. Thought is even cheaper. Action is the only thing that matters in the end.

Simple Things

2010-12-05T05:29:00.000-08:00

Recently I have been thinking a lot about the simple things in life. There are so many things that we cannot control. The weather. The economy. The actions of others. Sometimes we cannot even control ourselves.

But something I have been trying to do in recent times is trying to keep my house in order, both literally and figuratively. While there are no magic solutions, I am beginning to notice that the tidier my house is, and the better I take care of myself and my surroundings physically, the better I am mentally.

Keeping the floor clear, my books neatly on the shelf, my clothes hung in order. Keeping the dishes cleaned, dried, and put away. Having my clothes ironed, even those like t-shirts that could probably do without it. Somehow, these things seem to help.

Having things clean and organized is nice and relaxing somehow. But also, the process of doing this has something calming about it. I don’t think I’d like to spend all my time ironing or cleaning, but spending some time doing it regularly is therapeutic, and almost enjoyable.

Another thing I have been doing recently is cooking more. I am not a very good cook, but there is something nice about producing simple meals, and not simply purchasing everything ready to eat.

Writing lists is also something that I have found useful. Recently CID posted about how he tends to waste all his free time when he doesn’t plan or structure it, and I am the same way. So I’ve taken to writing to-do lists on a more regular basis, and they are very useful in getting things done. Beyond achieving the specific things on the list, they are also useful in giving purpose to my time.

Finally, although it may sound strange to write about this on a blog, I think I have been spending too much time on the internet that I could probably use in a more productive way. Obviously I haven’t stopped using the net, but I am now limiting my use a bit more, and have cut down on my aimless browsing that kills time and achieves nothing. I have been buying and reading the newspaper more often instead, and I tend to retain more of what I read in the paper than I do from browsing.

I'm managing day to day, which is good. I am not sure that I will ever beat this anxiety and depression, that it will ever really be out of my system. There are times when it has felt an integral part of me, and times when it felt like an intruder. Currently I think it is probably a part of me that will never go away.

For the moment, I think the best way to go is to take care of each day as it comes with the strength and resources that I have, and try to learn a little something each time.

In The Long Run

2010-11-28T05:37:00.001-08:00

The sun gives ground to a long cold night,
And you screw up your courage for another fight,
But you know in your heart it’ll be all right in the long run.
--Redgum, Long Run

I’ve blogged before about the power that music has to transport us out of ourselves, if only for a few moments. For me there are many bands, artists, and types of music that can do that. One of them is definitely Redgum, an Australian folk-rock band of the late 70s and early 80s. They are unknown overseas, and in Australia they are remembered mainly as a one-hit wonder for the song I was only 19, addressing the experience of Vietnam war vets. But they had a lot of other great songs that have been sadly forgotten, one of them being the song Long Run.

Some have seen this song as a criticism of the stereotypical Australian “She’ll be right mate, don’t worry about it” attitude. But I interpret it differently. Gradually as time passes I am coming to believe that things will be all right in the long run. But not because of destiny or any natural fairness in the world. They will be all right in the long run if we make them be all right.

Looking back over the last few centuries at all the improvements that have been made in Australia and other countries, progress has come from struggle. People struggled for the right to vote, for the right to have decent working conditions, for the right to equal treatment under the law regardless of sex, race, creed or sexual preference. None of these battles are ever entirely won. But where progress has been made, it is not because of any immutable law of progress or divine gift. It has been made because many people paid with, to quote old Winston Churchill: blood, toil, tears and sweat.

I think the same principles apply in our personal life. For those of us who struggle with depression or another mental illness life is a challenge. Some people find consolation in religions of various types, a belief in destiny or a cosmic plan, or in self-help books like “The Secret” that say we just have to think positive and everything will work out magically. I don’t find any of these to be convincing. I’ve been an atheist for a long time, and I have never found that many results come from prayers or wishful thinking. In my experience, results come from work.

I think that everyone wants their life to be better, and that we all do the best we can at any given time. There is still a long road ahead of me to where I want to be as a person. But I am making steps down that road. I’ve taken many hits along the way, but I am strong enough to have withstood them, and I am gradually learning to accept myself and be satisfied with the progress I am making. And for the first time in my life, I am slowly beginning to believe that things will indeed be all right in the long run.

If I Ever Leave This World Alive

2010-11-21T04:22:00.000-08:00

Recently I heard the song "If I ever leave this world alive" by the punk-folk group Flogging Molly. I hadn't listened to it for a while, and it took me back to 2005, when I first heard it. I remember originally hearing it on an episode of The Shield, and being entranced by it. I remember going on a two day road trip with a couple of friends before leaving Australia, pestering one of them to download it for me so I could play it later on the iPod as we drove along the coast. And I remember annoyingly singing bits and pieces of the song throughout the long car trip. But mostly, I remember the friends.

Originally four of us were to go on the road trip; myself, an engineer and a musician (two old friends from high school), and a friend from Korea. Unfortunately the Korean friend wound up having to work on that weekend, so he only spent Friday night with us before we headed off on Saturday morning. But it was a good Friday night. The musician turned up on Saturday morning (having brought only the clothes on his back plus a pair of sunglasses), my Korean friend headed back to work, and the three of us headed out along the coast.

The engineer, had just come back from 18 months or so living in the UK, and was just settling back into Australian life. I was about to up stakes and fly off to Japan to an unknown future. The musician was already starting to get itchy feet and thinking about heading over to South America, which he later did. Australia is very far from the rest of the world and culturally confused, with a physical geography that places us near Asia, but a mental geography that places us somewhere between the US and the UK. This combination of distance and confusion, plus all the usual reasons people travel, has sent generations of young Australians have heading off overseas for a week, a year, or a lifetime.

Not too long after that trip I headed off to Japan. My Korean friend was called back home by his company, and while he often came to Japan on business, schedules rarely aligned. We caught up a couple of times, and climbed Mt Fuji together back in 2008. I had promised to visit him in Korea at some stage, but still haven't done so.

A few weeks ago he told me that he'd be in Tokyo this past Thursday, and we had a chance to catch up. It had been a while and we didn't have a lot of time, but it was great to see him again. We reminisced about the old days in Australia, brought each other up to date with recent events, and talked about what was going on in our lives, good and bad. It was nice. It made me think back over many things I'd forgotten, or not thought about for a long time.

At various times over my three trips around the merry-go-round of depression I've called on these friends, and each of them has helped me at different times, to the best of their abilities to do so. With them, and with others as well, I have sometimes been angry and frustrated that they did not or could not do more to help me. I thought angrily to myself on many occasions that people should see how much I need help, should be there for me more, should check in more often. Couldn't they see how much pain I was in?

For the most part, I have moved past those feelings now. I think that we are all as good as we are capable of being at any given point in time. I said the same thing in last week's blog post, but I think it is worth repeating. Dealing with someone who has depression or another mental illness is tough, and it requires an amount of energy and skill that most people simply don't have.
This is far from ideal. But this is the way the world is. And denying reality doesn't help anyone.

I am far from where I would like to be in terms of my situation in life. But I think I am learning and getting stronger. And harsh as it may seem, we ultimately be able to stand or fall from our own efforts. Others can help, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to many people who have helped me get through particularly rough patches. But at the end of the day we must stand on our own two feet. And I think I'm getting closer to being able to do that.

Letting go, and getting better

2010-11-14T05:28:00.000-08:00

“Every man must look after his own soul; you can’t lay it down at another man’s door like a foundling, and expect him to take care of it."
--Anna Sewell, Black Beauty

I'm feeling better these days. I'm not jumping for joy or skipping down the street, but I am feeling gradually better. Life is manageable. It has plenty of challenges and ordeals to endure, and there are countless things I could probably complain at length about. But life is too short, and we only get one shot at it. And more than that, I really don't feel the need to complain as much as I used to.

I have spent a lot of my life, especially the last few years, being angry or depressed. Some say that depression is rage turned inwards, and I think that makes sense. I have raged against the world, against myself, against others. I have spent so much time finding reasons to look down on everyone around me, as well as myself. And then I've been angry that, surprisingly enough, people don't seem to want to spend much time around me meeting my emotional needs.

I am still a work in progress. But I think at the root of a lot of my frustration has been the fact that I've wanted to find other people to fill some gap, something missing inside myself. Humans are social creatures, and we crave human contact. And where the line between healthy need and unhealthy need is, I am not sure. But I have definitely spent a lot of time on the unhealthy side of the line. And what I needed, other people were not capable of giving. In hindsight, I think they recognized that, and moved away accordingly.

But I think there has been some shift within me. It has probably been caused by a number of different things. Part of it is probably diet and exercise, and forcing myself to get involved in more social activities. Part of it is writing this blog, and reading about the struggles of others who have been through similar things, especially Takashi. Mental illness is not something that one can openly talk about with a lot of people, and finding something of an online community of people who know what it is like helps.

And I am gradually moving closer to being okay with myself. I am caring a lot less about other people's opinions. I think I'm done walking on eggshells.

I am gradually feeling more confident in life, more accepting of my flaws and limitations. And I am able to see the flaws in others now, not as a reason to condemn them or look down on them, but just as part of their humanity. I think we are all as good as we are capable of being at any given time, getting by as best we can.

Pale Blue Dot

2010-11-07T01:24:00.001-07:00

Usually this blog is my thoughts, but for this post, I’d like to share something from a book I read at university that made a huge impact on me, Pale Blue Dot. It was written by astronomer, skeptic and science popularizer Carl Sagan, who also wrote the novel Contact and made the TV series Cosmos. In this passage, he is talking about the picture of earth to the left, taken by the Voyager spacecraft in 1990, now 20 years ago. The picture was taken from 6.1 billion kilometers away, and the Earth appears as a barely visible tiny dot.

“From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of particular interest. But for us, it's different. Consider again that dot. That's here, that's home, that's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds.

Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand.

It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.”

I'm on my way from misery to happiness today..

2010-10-31T05:54:00.000-07:00

Well, maybe. Quoting The Proclaimers goofy 80s hit may be a bit premature, but I am gradually feeling a bit better as time goes by. Life is not exactly a barrel of laughs, but I feel some progress.

There are probably a few reasons for this. I think this blog has been helpful in giving me an outlet for my own feelings and opinions, and also it is a way to meet other bloggers who are going through similar experiences. It feels good to have some sense of community, even one as ephemeral as the online world. It is good to know that I am not the only one going through anxiety and depression, and having the chance to be there for some others is also rewarding.

Over the past six months I have also been eating more healthily and exercising more as well. There is no such thing as a cure-all for depression, and it is something that will probably be with me in some form forever, but taking care of what I eat, and getting out there and putting my body through it's paces is good for me. Even today we tend to have some form of Cartesian dualism, where we think the mind and body are separate things. This is not true, but it is a very sticky meme. Mind and body are two parts of one whole, and neglecting the body cannot help but have a bad impact on the mind.

I've also made some first steps towards accepting myself as I am. I tend to be full of self-loathing, always wanting to be better or different than I am. But I am what I am, and I need to just deal with that. I'm doing the best that I can, and beating myself up over being inadequate doesn't help anyone, least of all myself.

As well as that, I've come to realize that I am not quite as inadequate as I thought I was. I've been making some progress in life, slowly but surely. Previously I wrote about the isolation I felt when I went to see fireworks a few months ago, feeling so alone, isolated, removed from the people I was with. I received quite a few insightful replies to that post, but the one that really made me think was from Nick. He talked about how there is room for all kinds of people in the world, and no point in trying to be something we are not. I'll never be a gregarious extrovert, and there is nothing wrong with that. It is just the way I am.

Last night I went to a combined halloween/birthday party. I was coming from work, so decided to simply compliment my suit with horns and a pitchfork, and come as a "corporate demon", which people seemed to think was pretty funny. I talked to a few people some of whom I knew, others who were strangers. I talked to a variety of people, Japanese, Chinese, miscellaneous Westerners, in English and my broken Japanese. I wasn't the life of the party, and I did feel uncomfortable at times. I don't think I'll ever be really comfortable in crowded social settings. But it was much better than that night under the fireworks.

Life is a struggle, but I seem to be making progress, slowly but steadily. And like those Scottish lads sang, I'll do my best, to do the best I can!

If You Don’t Fight You Lose

2010-10-24T05:32:00.000-07:00

The title of this post is taken from an old union slogan. It was written about people banding together to fight for their rights as workers. But it works just as well as a truism for dealing with life in general. Life is a struggle, and we all have to keep fighting. In this post, I’d like to talk about a couple of fighters I’ve been following.

For a while now I have been reading the blog of Chronic Impending Disaster, an American guy who writes about his life, the music and books that he loves, and his experiences as a trainee Spanish teacher. Unfortunately, he has been struggling a bit, and is thinking seriously about pulling out of teacher training, and doing something a bit less stressful, where he doesn’t need to be the center of attention all the time. He is trying to see through this final week so he can get a partial credit. And he is doing this while dealing with depression. I’ve been through similar difficulties with dealing with work and depression, and I know how tough it is.

More recently, I started following the blog of Takashi Nakayama, a Japanese guy who is currently on extended leave from his job, trying to deal with depression. He has been living on a reduced salary for some time, and in addition to having to deal with the hell that is depression, he is now having to worry about financial stresses as well, especially the Japanese city taxes.

While it has not been easy, he has managed to get advice about what to do, force himself out of his place to deal with the unhelpful local city office, and is in the process of getting his financial affairs in order. Most of us struggle with budgeting and government bureaucracies at the best of times, and doing these things while dealing with crippling depression, without much support, is very tough.

Both CID and Takashi are fighting hard. They are not giving up. They are fighting each day with everything at their disposal to keep going, keep facing down their depression, keep dealing with all the problems that come up.

Depression is a terrible and isolating thing. But the internet can provide a way for those of us who lack enough community in our regular lives to find people we have things in common with. It is not a perfect solution, but life is not about perfect solutions. It's about doing the best we can with what we have. CID and Takashi are both doing that, and I am really looking forward to seeing them get past the issues they are facing right now.

Tokyo Marathon, Take 2

2010-10-17T07:58:00.000-07:00

“Never tell me the odds!”
--Han Solo, The Empire Strikes Back

The Tokyo Marathon is an incredibly popular event. This year, 294,469 people applied to run the full marathon. 32,000 were accepted. And I was one of them!

This will be my second time to enter the marathon. The first time was in 2007, at the first Tokyo marathon. I had signed up for it in the summer of 2006, when I was doing relatively well, and running relatively often. But as the winter of 2006 came, I gradually fell into the first of my three major bouts of depression. Among other things, this pretty much stopped any exercising.

By the time the marathon came around in March 2007, I was very out of shape, and still very depressed. But I couldn’t bear to give up. So I went ahead and ran the race anyway. The first ten kilometers were okay. The next ten were increasingly difficult and painful. And the last twenty were hell. Actually, I walked the second half of the race, and took six and a half hours to finish. Even walking was incredibly painful. But I ran the last few hundred meters to the finish line. I was in agony for weeks afterwards, but I finished it.

I had no interest in ever doing a marathon again. But this year I started running again, and gradually I have been getting fitter. I am still out of shape, but I am gradually getting better. This week I ran 15 kilometers for the first time since that day back in March 2007. Slowly but surely, my body is getting in shape. It is not all improvement – yesterday I went for a run and felt I had to stop after 4 kilometers. I still have a lot to learn about fitness, about my body and how to treat it well. But I’m getting there.

I have no intentions of repeating the self-imposed death march that was the 2007 marathon. I am running two or three times a week, and gradually extending my distances. I am trying to eat well and will also be doing a number of shorter races in the next few months to build up my stamina.

I completed the 2007 marathon, but I still feel I was defeated by it. In 2010 I want to make a success of the race. It will be hard, it will be painful. But I want to be able to run it at my pace, and run the whole way, not have to drag myself across the finish line. I’d like to finish it in 5 hours. And I’d like to finish it with a smile on my face!

Sushi Oasis

2010-10-10T07:43:00.000-07:00

Life in Tokyo can be exhausting. The city is huge and sprawling, almost a world unto itself. It has been the center of power of Japan for 400 years, and in that time has grown to into one of the largest cities in the world. 13 million people live here, and sometimes it seems like we are all crammed into the same train.

Much of Tokyo is a wasteland of concrete, steel and glass, with very little in the way of nature. Garish neon lights blast into the sky, pachinko parlors with their incessant noise are everywhere, and black-suited salarymen are constantly rushing around. Death from overwork is common enough to have a word to describe it (karoshi, if you are curious), and the city can be incredibly isolating, for both Japanese and foreigners alike. In other words, sometimes, it all gets a bit too much.

There are many possible temporary escapes from the stresses of Tokyo life. Alcohol and karaoke are popular, usually in combination. All the retail therapy one can afford is easily available. If a more personal consolation is what is required, despite prostitution being technically illegal, Japan is filled with brothels of various types. There are also many “host” and “hostess” clubs where those interested can go to be plied with alcohol and entertained by the modern day descendants of the geisha.

As for me, I prefer to go to a sushi shop.

I eat sushi at least a few times a week. When I step into a sushi shop, it often feels like stepping back in time. The walls are usually wood-lined, and when customers enter they are greeted with a hearty “irrashaimase!” from the staff. The types of sushi on offer are typically written in Japanese on boards against the wall, sometimes in English as well as Japanese.

In a standing sushi bar, the sushi chef will lay a bamboo leaf on the counter. Green tea is free, as is the ginger used as a palate cleanser between different types of sushi. Customers order sushi two at a time, which the chef places on the leaf. Customers come in by themselves, or in groups. Sometimes there is banter between staff and customers, but usually it is quiet. There is music playing, which usually seems to be about 50 or 60 years old. It is relaxing.

I prefer the bar to be not too crowded, but not too empty. Sushi is good for you, and eating it has its own little ritual. Lifting it with chopsticks, a slight dip into the soy sauce, and then into the mouth. If it is good fish, it often melts in the mouth. With each piece of sushi I eat, each minute I spend in the sushi bar, I feel a little more relaxed. A few of the worries of the world fall away, or at least recede from view for now.

If I’m feeling good, I usually feel great after going there. If I’m feeling down or stressed out, I tend to feel a little better. The food is healthy, and the environment is enjoyable. I step out of the sushi oasis refreshed, and ready to do battle with Tokyo once again.

Bon Voyage

2010-10-03T07:39:00.001-07:00

On Tuesday a friend and coworker will be leaving Japan and heading back home to Chicago. We’ve known each other for about three years, and had many discussions about matters large and small, eaten sushi many times, done crossword puzzles, been to karaoke more times than I can count, and climbed Mt Fuji.

There are many things that I will remember, not the least of which were his truly memorable karaoke performances. The highlights were definitely “Beat It”, “Baby Got Back”, and “Smells Like Teen Spirit”. The stage presence, air guitar, and passion he sings with are really something else.

But these are not the things that I will remember most about him. Back in 2008, I was doing okay. My depression was under control, I had a girlfriend, work was going well, and I was enjoying life somewhat. I had just turned 30 and was relatively content.

Another coworker, however, was not enjoying life at all. She had a variety of personal and relationship problems, and was most likely suffering from a mental illness. She was a bit difficult to deal with, and most people, myself included, tended to give her the cold shoulder.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it. To the extent that I did, I basically thought of her as a basket case and wrote her off, hoping to minimize my contact with her, which I did quite effectively.

My friend from Chicago, however, was different. He tried to help, tried to listen, even offered her a place to stay when it seemed like she might lose her accommodation unexpectedly. I thought all of this was a bad idea and advised him against it. In the end, our troubled coworker wound up leaving. I’m not sure what happened to her.

It was not until later, when my own troubles multiplied, that I appreciated what he had tried to do for her. Everyone wants to be a good person, but when it comes right down to it, we tend to look out for number one. I, and the vast majority of others ignored the woman who was in trouble, not wanting to get sucked into her problems. To use the biblical parable, we “walked by on the other side”.

There was only one good Samaritan around in 2008, and it definitely wasn’t me. I’ll never forget that. And I’ll never forget the man from Chicago who did his best to help a troubled soul. Bon voyage man. I wish you all the best for the future.

Invictus

2010-09-26T03:25:00.000-07:00

The last few years of my life have been particularly difficult. I have endured depression, anxiety, and loneliness so severe that there have been times I would almost have preferred that life not go on. I have longed to find a sense of belonging with others and acceptance of myself. So far, I have not succeeded.

I have been through three particularly nasty bouts of depression, in 2007, 2009, and 2010. This year was by far the worst, and while I am much better than I was a few months ago, I am still not entirely out of the woods. I suspect that I never will be.

The thing which hurts the most is loneliness. This has long been an issue for me, but it has only intensified as the years have passed. In the past I have tended to blame others and the world for my woes, but after a certain point I realized that I am the constant. I think that people are ultimately drawn to those who they feel will benefit them in some way, and unfortunately that rarely seems to be me. There seems to be something broken about me, and people realize this, and keep their distance.

That is the hand I’ve been dealt. I do the best I can. I would love to be sociable, always friendly, optimistic and happy. But it just isn’t in me. I cannot pretend to notice how unwanted I am and put on the cheery face that is apparently needed. My continual failure to be able to make and maintain real and meaningful connections is agony, and making it through each day is a struggle. I can’t pretend otherwise.

But I can take it. Despite how bad the depression, anxiety, and loneliness gets, I manage to endure. And eventually it lessens. Each time I learn a little bit more about myself. Each time I get a little bit tougher. Each time I am forced to find a little more strength within myself – and I do.

We all face many struggles in life. Regardless of our age, income, family situation, political beliefs, nationality, race, religion, sexual orientation, or health status, we all face different battles on a daily basis. We often face them alone, without the support that we would have in a perfect world. But this world is very far from perfect.

Through watching the Clint Eastwood movie, I recently became aware of the English poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley. The word itself means “unconquered”, and it is a poem about self-mastery despite difficult circumstances. The author had his leg amputated at age 12, and the poem inspired Nelson Mandela during the 27 years he was imprisoned. It is a truly inspiring poem. And while I am no Nelson Mandela, like the poem says, my head is bloody, but unbowed.

Despite everything, I am, and will remain, unconquered.

World War Z

2010-09-19T03:42:00.000-07:00

Zombie movies have always been something of a guilty pleasure of mine. I don’t watch them very often, but I do watch a couple each year. Most are disposable “so bad it’s good” type movies, while others are well-crafted comedies, such as Zombieland or Shaun of the Dead. A rare few, like Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later are something really special. I almost never have nightmares, but I had one after seeing that particular vision of hell.

But the novel World War Z puts them all in the shade. Written by Max Brooks and published in 2006, it is done as an oral history. I like reading oral histories, and Brooks was partly inspired by his experience of reading The Good War by Studs Terkel. I haven’t read The Good War, but I have read Japan at War, written by Haruko and Theodore Cook. It consists of interviews with Japanese people from all walks of life, talking about their experiences before, during, and after the Second World War. It was an incredibly moving book, and it is to Brooks’ credit that he manages to conjure up something of the same spirit in a book about a zombie apocalypse.

The plague starts in China, which tries to cover it up. Refugees flee the country, and gradually the contagion spreads all over the globe. Government inaction and incompetence, apathetic populations, and opportunistic businesspeople all contribute to the situation gradually worsening until the future of the human race itself is threatened.

The world Brooks depicts is scarily believable. China’s cover-up is reminiscent of what happened with SARS, American military mistakes bring Iraq to mind, and Russia gradually lapsing into Tsarist theocracy does not seem a stretch at all.

But the true power of his book is in the memorable characters he creates. WWZ contains the stories of soldiers, doctors, politicians and many more giving their experiences of the war. An American veteran angrily explains the military disaster that was the battle of Yonkers, a Cuban businessman relates with irony how American refugees fled to his country, and an Australian astronaut tells of watching the world go to hell from the International Space Station.

Also, stories of how some great leaders were killed, not by hostile action, but by the awesome responsibilities of their positions, really ring true, bringing to mind the US president FDR and Australian prime minister John Curtin, both of whom led their countries during world war two and died just as victory was in sight.

A movie will be made of the book, and I am very curious to see what happens with it. If done right, I think it has the potential to be the best zombie film ever made. With WWZ Brooks created a real work of art, and I truly hope that the film lives up to it.

Low Self Opinion

2010-09-12T04:14:00.000-07:00

I know the self doubt that runs inside your mind,
I know the self doubt that treats you so unkind,
If you could see the you that I see,
When I see you seeing me,
You would see yourself so differently -
Believe me!
--Henry Rollins, Low Self Opinion

When I was at my lowest ebb a few months ago, every morning when I woke up I’d play the Rollins Band song “Low Self Opinion” to get my day started. The hard rock sound, and Rollin’s lyrics, which sound as though they are coming from someone who has been to some very dark places and survived to tell the tale, helped me get up, helped me to force myself to start another day.

I am definitely doing better than I was a few months ago, no question. I had fallen so far into depression that I had no choice but to try and radically change the way I was living. So I got more serious about exercise, tried some alternative therapies, as well as different medications, went back to therapy, started being more honest with myself and others about my state of mind. I cut back my work hours, and started eating healthier. I have tried to be of use to others. I started this blog. Basically, I did everything I could think of to get myself out of the big black hole I was in. And it has worked to some extent.

But when it comes right down to it, I think I still have a low self opinion. Very slowly I am getting better at being understanding of others, at putting myself in their shoes and not being so judgmental. There is a long way to go, but I am making progress.

But when it comes to myself, it sometimes seems I haven’t made any progress at all. I often feel a crushing loneliness, feel separate and unwanted from those I know. I feel ambivalent about reaching out to others, thinking that I am simply a burden, a buzz-kill, a drag. In the movie Strange Days, Angela Bassett says to Ralph Fiennes: “Friendship is more than one person constantly doing favors for the other”, and I guess that is how I feel about my relationships with other people. It is like they are doing me a favor, that it is some kind of charity work.

Essentially I feel alone. Unnecessary. And this, more than anything, is what keeps me in this depression. I long to be wanted, needed, included. To be part of what is going on, and to be accepted for who I am. But I can’t seem to find that. I never seem to have what people want, so I pass through their lives with barely a trace. I wish I could be the happy shiny person that it is apparently necessary to be in order to be included in things, but I can’t. It isn’t in me.

Sometimes it feels like I am swimming in an underwater cave, and finding social interaction and someone I can really talk to honestly is something like finding a small pocket of air. But then I have to plunge back underwater again, and desperately swim for the next air pocket. And I’m getting really tired of it.

Slow and steady

2010-09-05T04:28:00.000-07:00

The other night I went out for a run. It was a hot Summer evening, about 29 degrees Celsius (84 Fahrenheit). The humidity was high, but there was a slight breeze, so it was not too bad. In any case, things always seem better when I am on my way to go running.

I have been running on and off for about six or seven years. I have never been particularly religious about it, and have had long periods where I slacked off and didn’t exercise at all. These have often been followed, new-years resolution style, with periods of increased, unsustainable, and probably harmful exercise. Which leads back into inactivity. I know that running is probably not the greatest form of exercise. It can be solitary, it can be hard on the body. But I’m always drawn back to it. And at the end of the day you have to do what you love.

Generally I tend to go at things like a bull at a gate, which frequently ends badly. The same is true for running, I usually start quickly, which is sometimes okay, and sometimes not. But this night I decided to take some advice I’d received about starting out very slow.

It felt good. My legs gradually got used to the run, and despite going slower than usual, I was still running faster than most of the other joggers I encountered. Our bodies are designed to move, and there is nothing quite like running.

I didn’t push myself, I just listened to my body and enjoyed the run. I felt my feet hitting the ground, felt my posture straighten, felt myself breathing in and out. I heard the cicadas in the trees, felt the breeze running through my hair, and felt the relief as I sweated all the stress and toxins out of my body. I felt alive.

When I reached the end of my run I stretched, and sat to enjoy the moment. I have so many things that I should be grateful for, but instead I usually wind up feeling inadequate, like I just don’t measure up. So I push myself more and more, until I fall in a heap, physically or mentally.

But I think I am done with those days now. I am myself, for better or worse, and I will never be anyone else. All the self-loathing, all the “should haves”, all the pushing myself to breaking point hasn’t helped. Slow and steady may not win the race, but it can make the difference between getting to the finish line or falling by the wayside. Slow, and steady. And never give up.

The Last Lecture

2010-08-29T03:39:00.000-07:00

“We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand.”
--Randy Pausch

Randy Pausch was an American professor at Carnegie Mellon University. As many professors are, he had been asked to give a theoretical "last lecture" about his experience of life and what he would like his legacy to be. But unlike most such lectures, in a sense it really was his last. He had been diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer, and did not have long to live.

When he started speaking, he glibly apologized for looking so healthy, and said that actually, despite the fact he was dying, he was in better shape than most of his audience. Then, just to make the point, he dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.

I saw the last lecture back in 2008. Pausch was already dead when I watched his lecture, but watching him on stage, dying but truly alive, and hearing him talk passionately about life, made a huge impact on me. I was talking about it for months afterwards.

I have read the book based on the lecture a number of times. I’ve never felt able to watch the lecture again, but the book is something I have returned to over and over.

As the stunt with the push-ups showed, Pausch was a born showman. But he had also done a lot of learning in his 47 years, and was keen to say goodbye in a way that passed some of it on, to his colleagues, students, and friends, but mostly to his wife and three young children.

He spoke about many things. But the thing that struck me the most was the limited time we all have. We don’t all have a terminal cancer diagnosis, but we do all have bodies that will fail eventually. None of us know if we will live another day, or another fifty years. We can make educated guesses, but none of us really know if today will be our last.

In the past, health is something that I have tended to take for granted. It is only over the last few years that I have slowly come to appreciate it. The old cliché about how we don’t know what we’ve got till it’s gone is very true, and as I have gone through this roller-coaster ride of depression and anxiety, I spent a lot of time angry and frustrated about how terrible I felt.

But very slowly I am coming to appreciate the times when I am doing well. I don’t know if I will ever fully recover, ever be really happy. So I can’t base my peace of mind around that.

Sometimes I think about Awakenings, and how the patients in that movie were fortunate to have the recovery they did, even though it was temporary. Like those patients, I have to seize the moments I have and use them to the best of my abilities.

When it comes down to it, all life is temporary anyway, so even if my depression disappeared tomorrow, the fundamental situation would still be the same. Limited time, limited energy, large challenges.

In the introduction to his book, Pausch noted that engineering is not about perfect solutions, it is about doing the best one can with limited resources. Perhaps I should accept that and live my life with that in mind. It just might lead to me being a little easier on myself and others, and to a life that is a little more enjoyable.

Gratitude

2010-08-22T03:54:00.000-07:00

I have tried so many different ways to combat depression. Ignoring it and soldiering on. Exercising. Watching good movies and TV shows. Reading. Cooking. Eating. Spending time with people. Spending time alone. Therapy. Medication. Meditation. Acupuncture. Massage. Keeping good posture. Trying to be of use to others. Working a lot. Working a little. Reading about depression. Reading self-help books. Writing positive affirmations. Trying to be positive. Ranting and raving. Listening to music. Singing. Writing poems. Writing a diary. Writing a blog.

Sometimes all this seems like an indication of how strong and determined I am to beat, or at least learn to manage, my depression. That I am responding to my problems in a way that shows I am tough and resilient.

Other times it just seems like a laundry list of distractions that I use to avoid the fact that I am a miserable and lonely failure. That I will always be struggling, always on the outside, always unhappy with myself. That I should just accept that, give up, and get on with being miserable.

But that way lies madness. And I am not too keen on that. So I keep trying new things. And sometimes they even work.

Something I have been trying recently is to feel gratitude. To appreciate my life, and the experiences I have. And it helps a little.

Recently, a friend from San Francisco suggested writing a gratitude list. But just doing this once didn’t seem enough. For about a year I tried writing positive affirmations each day. At first this seemed to help a lot, but after a while the effect faded.

So recently, I have decided to join the two ideas. Each morning, in a notepad I fill a page with the things about the previous day that I am grateful for, that I appreciate. These can be experiences that I enjoyed, things I achieved, or realizations I have made. They can also be about negative things too.

I wish I didn’t have to deal with this depression. But I do. I have tried ranting, raging, and despairing. It doesn’t help. So now I’m trying gratitude instead.

We all face so many challenges in life. We face a lot of pain, a lot of problems. This is a given. But I am gradually reaching the conclusion that responding to this with anger, resentment and frustration is not productive. I am also coming to think that it is the challenges we face that make us strong. Life is a struggle. But every day is another chance. Every problem is another opportunity to become a little wiser, a little more grateful for what we have.

And maybe, just maybe, a little happier.

Singin’ seems to help a troubled soul

2010-08-15T03:28:00.000-07:00

Johnny Cash sang that in “Daddy Sang Bass”, and truer words were never spoken. There is something profound in the act of singing, especially singing with others. In the past this was much more a part of popular culture – after all, there were no recordings, so if people wanted music, they had to sing. Whether the music was a folk song or a hymn, it brought people together in a way that few other things can.

In the West, the combined rise of technology and decline of organized religion have had many effects, but the effect on singing is one that must be lamented. Increasingly it seems that music is something that is manufactured, rather than played, songs are things that professionals record, rather than being sung by everyday people. Music is something that we now passively consume, rather than actively create or perform.

But technology has not been all bad. Courtesy of Japan, it has bought us karaoke.

Karaoke often gets a bad rap, but it is one of the joys of my life. I grew up long after the time when families routinely gathered to sing together, and I was never a big fan of singing hymns when I attended church as a child. But with karaoke, I found a way to help my troubled soul.

I have gradually worked out which songs I can handle and which I can’t. My voice is rather deep, and not too melodious, so a mixture of punk, rap, rock, and country is what I can handle best. As I sing a song more often, it gradually improves, and I enjoy it more and more. One of the songs I began singing recently is the old House of Pain hit Jump Around. I get a real kick out of singing it (and jumping around!) as do the friends I have been to karaoke with.

Apart from singing songs I like, one of the reasons I like karaoke so much is listening to the songs others have mastered and made their own. Many Japanese are good singers due to hours of practice, and more than a few foreigners can impress on the mic too. The guy from Chicago who sings an impassioned version of Beat It, complete with funky dance moves. The guy from Portland who sings everything from The Crash Test Dummies to Duran Duran, and I will never forget our combined version of Pretty Vacant. The English girl from Birmingham who performs Japanese ballads so beautifully it seems she was born to sing them. And the girl from San Diego who can sing in English, Spanish, and increasingly well in Japanese.

Singing doesn’t fix depression. But it certainly helps to alleviate it. Back in the 70s the famous music critic Lester Bangs wrote that rock music was “time off from the world.” I think that goes for music in general. The worries will still be there when the music is over. But for a few brief moments we are taken out of ourselves and elevated to something more. I am not religious, but there is something spiritual there. That is what music can do. And that is why I will always love karaoke.

Into the Wild

2010-08-04T19:33:00.000-07:00

Christopher McCandless was a 22-year old American university graduate from a well-to do family. In 1990 he moved out of his apartment, gave away all his money, cut off all contact with his family and everyone he knew, and set off across the US on a grand adventure. He spent two years wandering all over the country. He was an intelligent and gifted young man, who made quite an impact on the people who met him. Jon Krakauer wrote a fine book about him, which was later made into a great film.

McCandless had strong convictions and very high standards. He clashed constantly with his parents. He was a good student, a great athlete, and was also musically gifted. He had the intelligence to follow whatever career he wanted in life. Instead, inspired by books and high ideals, he answered the call of the wild.

He wanted to live free from his parents, from society, to be uncompromised by rules and conventions he didn’t approve of. To challenge himself and truly live in nature, instead of just existing in a world he saw as being plastic and fake.

He did all these things. And then he died. He starved to death, alone in a rusting bus in Alaska. He was 24.

I am not Chris McCandless by any stretch of the imagination. But I recognize something of myself in him, and something of my time in Japan in his two-year odyssey across America.

Like him, I love books and reading. Like him, I can be stubborn, and I have an idealistic streak that doesn’t always fit so well into the real world. Like him, I had issues that contributed to me moving very far away from home, in my case all the way from Australia to Japan.

Of course, Tokyo is not Alaska. But although my time in Japan has been far from the kind of adventure that Chris McCandless experienced, it has been similar in that it is here that I have experienced both the best and worst times of my life. There have been times when my whole being has been filled with happiness, times that I have been more alive than ever before. Times when I have truly lived.

There have also been times that I wanted to die. Times when I felt so low, so self-loathing and negative, so isolated and alone that I didn’t want to go on. Times when I would have preferred to simply not wake up in the morning. To sleep forever rather than face another day.

In the time since I came to Japan I have been up and down several times, with three major bouts of depression. Each time, it got a bit worse. The last time, three months ago, was by far the worst.

I am not sure what lies ahead of me when I return to Australia. I am not sure what I will do for work, where I will live. Moving locations does not change a person. But Japan does not seem to be so good for me. I am glad that I came here, glad that I had my equivalent of a grand adventure. But I think it is time to head home.

Alone in a crowd

2010-08-01T02:42:00.000-07:00

You tried so hard to understand them
You wanted to be part of what was happening
You saw them having fun
And it seemed like such a mystery
Almost magic.
--Henry Rollins, I Know You

During Summer there are many fireworks displays all across Japan, and attending them is a popular pastime. The Japanese have been doing this for around 300 years now, and even today, many of the people who attend don traditional Summer clothes, yukata for women, and jinbei for men. Couples, families, groups of friends will wander down to the parks, beaches, and riversides of Japan, eat, drink, socialize, fan themselves with sensu or uchiwa, hear the cicada sing and watch the fireworks.

Recently I was invited to watch some fireworks. Our group was probably about 15 people altogether, and I knew two of them. The story of this night, at least from my view, is pretty much the story of every large social event that I have attended since childhood.

I tend to find most social situations uncomfortable, but especially those with large groups of people. In Japan the language issue makes things more complicated, as my level of Japanese is not anywhere near as good as it should be after four years here, and of course, when I am not confident, it gets worse.

But to put too much blame on the language misses the point. The way I feel, and the way things tend to play out, have been the same for decades. I tend to have a couple of people I feel somewhat comfortable talking with, and spend a lot of time, too much time, talking with them when they'd probably much rather be talking with other people.

I have brief, uncomfortable conversations with people I don’t know so well, or don’t know at all, and after exchanging pleasantries and making some small talk the other person tends to find that they need to be elsewhere. They sense something wrong and move on. As the time goes by I feel increasingly uncomfortable.

I watch the other people talk with each other, telling jokes or stories, seeing the charismatic ones hold court, see people mingling, watching strangers gradually become comfortable with each other, find things in common, see friendships begin, watch people click with each other.

I know all of these people have their problems. We all do. Perhaps they have problems with money, or alcohol, or gambling. Maybe they are unhappy at work, or they can’t find a job. It could be they have problems with their family or their sexuality. Maybe their relationship is not going well, or maybe they don’t have one. Maybe they are trying to get over a broken heart. Perhaps they have some kind of serious illness, or are worried about their future. We are all struggling with something.

But they seem to manage, and put things to the side, at least for the moment. I don’t. For as long as I can remember, the times when people come together tend to be the worst times. I often tend to find myself alone, feeling that I am so lonely that I could die from it. Or, I tend to find myself in social situations that are excruciatingly painful, waiting for it to be over, wishing that I had not bothered, and just stayed at home.

So, I find myself between a rock and a hard place. And I can’t really see any way this will change. I used to blame the world, blame other people. And I still do sometimes. But for the most part I have come to recognize that I am the cause of my unhappiness. I think I have always tried the best that I could, whether at a backyard party or family Christmas in Australia or under the glow of fireworks in Japan. But unfortunately, my best is not good enough.

Sayonara Mt Fuji

2010-07-25T04:42:00.000-07:00

One would be a fool never to climb Mt Fuji – but also a fool to climb it twice.
--Traditional Japanese expression

Based on this expression, I am quite a fool. This week I climbed Mt Fuji for the sixth time. It has been an annual event for me during my time in Japan. Mt Fuji is beautiful on postcards, but for climbers it is a long dusty slog. The half-way point where most climbers start is at the tree line, and above that the mountain is a volcanic wasteland. I am always reminded of pictures of Mars.

The first few times I climbed I was invited. But eventually I started organizing the trips myself. Something kept drawing me back. With around 200,000 climbers a year, Mt Fuji is not exactly the road less traveled. But for me, there is something special there. The way there is something spiritual about it, despite the crowds and the commercialism. The physical challenge. Helping each other make it through the climb. The chance of a beautiful sunrise.

And the fact that none of us belong there.

Japan can be an isolating place to live, especially as a foreigner. But despite its important place in Japanese culture, everyone is a stranger to Mt Fuji, Japanese included. All of us are focused on making it up the mountain. And despite the exertion and sometimes strained tempers, people seem more open somehow.

This week’s climb was pretty simple and straightforward. The weather was good, we had no injuries or major problems, and my physical condition is better than it has been for a while. The sunrise was beautiful. And apart from tired legs I felt fine afterwards, unlike some other times.

But more than anything, this climb felt like a goodbye to Mt Fuji. As we climbed up the popular Yoshida trail, I remembered all the people I have climbed with, people from Australia, Korea, Uzbekistan, the US, the UK, Japan, and Mexico. I remembered the deep and meaningful conversations, the arguments, the jokes. The mock swordfights with hiking sticks. And that time I decided sprinting down the mountain would be a good idea, resulting in an unexpected forwards somersault. Fortunately I walked away with injuries only to my pride.

Coming from a country whose history spans barely more than 200 years, one of the things I have always found fascinating about Japan is the length of its traditions. In the case of Mt Fuji, Japanese have been climbing it since at least the 9th century AD. And it has been a privilege to take part in it. Whatever the ups and downs of my life in Japan, I have always known that Mt Fuji was there waiting for next year.

But now, it seems likely that my time in Japan is coming to an end, and next Summer there will be one less climber. That makes me a little sad. But all good things must come to an end. Even for Fuji-loving fools.

Goodbye Harvey Pekar

2010-07-18T07:05:00.000-07:00

"It makes you feel good to know that there's other people afflicted like you."
--Harvey Pekar

Harvey Pekar died this week. File clerk, music critic, comic book author and quite a grumpy guy, he passed away at home. He was 70 years old.

Like a lot of people, I first heard of him because of the 2003 film American Splendor, based on his long running comic series. It covered his life as a file clerk in a VA hospital in his hometown Cleveland, his relationships, money troubles, struggles with cancer, loneliness and depression, among other things.

In a way his comic was like a blog, long before such things existed. He recounted incidents from his daily life, his failures, frustrations and sufferings. For a very long time his comics didn’t sell very well, but he kept at it, year after year. He told stories about the books he read and the music he loved, about his days at work, his experiences with dating and relationships.

He said: “Essentially all I've wanted this to be is a journal of a life, because I think that sort of thing is worth recording.” I agree. Lives are worth recording. And what Harvey Pekar showed us was a new way to record a journal of an everyday person’s life.

I liked his comics, and have read or own most of them. But it was the film of his life that made the biggest impact on me.

A month or so ago, when I was going through my worst bout of depression ever, I watched it again. I can’t say that it cleared my depression away – no film, no book, no song, can do that. But watching Paul Giamatti as Harvey work his way through life as best he could really helped. Watching Harvey’s struggles definitely made a difference to me.

I think that good art is always good for the soul. As a film, American Splendor is very intelligent, with heart, artistry, and honesty. And from what I could tell, that summed up Harvey Pekar pretty well too.

Black Beauty

2010-07-11T06:35:00.001-07:00

They say that youth is wasted on the young. That may be so, but based on my reading of the last few weeks, so-called children’s books are also wasted on the children! I am glad I have returned to reading.

After following Buck's adventures in The Call of the Wild, I moved onto Black Beauty by Anna Sewell, another classic that I had never read before. Sewell, an English invalid who cared deeply about the horses she depended on for mobility, paints a vivid picture of 19th century English life from a horse’s eye point of view, from the lush country estates of the aristocracy to the crowded and poverty-stricken streets of Victorian London.

Whereas Buck could eventually flee human society to follow the call of the wild, Black Beauty, like most of us, has no such option. Although raised in great comfort, as time goes by he must toil under a variety of good, bad, and indifferent masters. He has almost no control over his circumstances, but endures as best he can.

In The Call of the Wild, Buck forms a strong bond with one of his many masters, John Thornton. The parallel in Sewell’s novel is Jerry Barker, a hardworking cab driver who owns Black Beauty for some years. Jerry is a thoroughly decent man, who treats his horses, family, and fellow drivers with dignity and good humor.

The world depicted in the book, however, is often far from decent. There is a great deal of cruelty and suffering to be found, much of it driven by ignorance, selfishness, or the dictates of economics. The latter are especially harsh, and result in both horses and men being worked to death for the sake of a few coins.

Sewell was raised as a Quaker, and remained religious throughout her life. Several versions of the good Samaritan story occur, and Sewell is clear in her conviction that we all have a moral obligation to do right, and that to do nothing when wrong is being done is to condone it.

Sewell wrote the book primarily in the hope that its publication could improve the treatment of horses. She paints a vivid picture of the sufferings of the "dumb animals", a worthy goal, but beyond that her novel is a clarion call for decency in general. I am glad that I read it.

Blood, toil, tears, and sweat

2010-07-03T07:26:00.000-07:00

Winston Churchill was a remarkable man. He stood stubbornly, almost irrationally firm and resolute when it looked like all was lost and the enemy would be triumphant. He refused to consider surrender.

During some very dark days he said: “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears, and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many months of struggle and of suffering. You ask, what is our aim? I can answer in one word: Victory – victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory, however long and hard the road may be; for without victory, there is no survival.”

Churchill was speaking in the grim days of 1940, referring to the struggle against Nazi Germany, but his words could equally well refer to the battle with depression, another battle that he was intimately familiar with. He fought it throughout his life, referring to it as his “black dog”. It is to the great benefit of the world in general that he didn’t submit to it, but fought it as stubbornly as he fought against fascism.

Fighting depression is a struggle. It is painful. It is protracted. And it is necessary. It is necessary because, as Churchill said, if there is no victory, there is no survival. Depression will kill if it is allowed to.

It may seem trite to compare any one person’s personal struggle for mental wellbeing with the global fight against fascism. But anyone who has experienced the depths of despair, pain, and hopelessness that depression brings will be aware just how formidable a foe depression can be. There are times it seems hopeless, when the depression seems just too strong, times when it seems like it would be so much easier to just give in.

But don’t. Stand firm. Set your jaw. Look depression square in the face. And give it the two-finger salute just like old Winston did.

The Call of the Wild

2010-06-27T22:39:00.000-07:00

Since I started reading again recently I have been reading shorter books that are easier to concentrate on, given the difficulties with memory and concentration that come with depression. I was motivated to read The Call of the Wild by Jack London partly because of it’s length, and partly because I saw Sean Penn’s moving film Into the Wild, the story of Christopher McCandless’ ill-fated adventures. London was apparently one of McCandless’ favorite authors.

London, along so many others, went to the Klondike gold rush of the 1890s. He came away with empty pockets, but a rich store of memory and experience to use in his writing.

"The Call of the Wild" tells the story of Buck, a Saint Bernard-Border Collie cross who is stolen from a comfortable life in California, to be sold into servitude as a sled dog. He is strong and intelligent, and manages to become a superb sled dog, before eventually becoming totally wild, eventually joining a wolf pack. The contrast of the harsh purity of the wild with the corrupt and troubled world of men, and the call of the wild that Buck eventually follows, obviously resonated with McCandless, a man in search of liberation from what he saw as a hopelessly compromised society.

But perhaps McCandless should have noted more carefully that as well as this veneration of nature and struggle that runs through the book, London is also clear that nature is Darwinian. Not everyone is going to make it. Buck is strong in body and spirit and manages to endure, but the other characters in the book, whether man or dog, usually don’t survive the wilderness or their own weaknesses. This is not written emotionally, just stated as a fact.

The wild is beautiful and where we are most alive, because success means to live more intensely than is possible elsewhere. But failure means death. And those who journey there will be tried and tested. Some will make it, and many will not.

As someone who struggles daily wondering if I will make it or not, it is a harsh message. But it rings of the truth. We are all tried and tested, and many of us are found wanting. I am no Buck. I can’t see myself leading the pack. But I hope I have the strength within me to endure.

The Depressed Reader

2010-06-26T07:06:00.000-07:00

Depression is not so fun. It is also not so rare. Although there are many recorded cases of depression throughout history, it does seem to be more prevalent in the modern era.

Many of us out there struggle with depression, or know those who do. There are many possible ways to struggle with it, exercise, therapy, medication, alternative medicine, prayer, reaching out to family and friends, and many others. Pulling the blanket up over one’s head and hoping it will all go away is another popular one. I’ve tried all of the above, and the struggle is ongoing.

I have always been a voracious reader, from when I was very young I was always reading a few books at the same time. But in the last few years, as I have gone in and out of depression, I found that I read less and less. It happened gradually, and I didn’t even realize.

During my most recent bout of depression, probably the worst so far, I realized that the amount I read had gradually gone down over the last few years. One of the many effects of depression is that it robs of pleasure in things we would usually enjoy. It also effects memory and concentration, and so when I somehow found myself wandering down to my local library, I was drawn to the classics section, to the shorter classic books. Some of which I had read during my childhood, some of which I had never read. I picked up “Treasure Island”, by Robert Louis Stevenson, and my love of books was rediscovered. This was a few weeks ago.

I thought it might be a good idea to focus on something positive. In this blog I plan to write some short-ish posts on the books that I read, my impressions, and what I get out of them. I hope you enjoy them. The first post will be about “The Call of the Wild” by Jack London.