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If you look at it from a better perspective, I’m already extinct. Which is reassuring.
People tend to look down on webcomics. Some of these people have been putting out three panels a day, every day, for literally years. Its very strange, looking back, and watching characters grow and interact and become greater and more nuanced. Watching the author grow. There’s a deliberation involved, committing yourself to that.
Walking along the razor’s edge between treating users like the uninformed, moody children they are, and not insulting the experience and competence they are convinced they have in this area.
Them: I deleted a bunch of emails, and now they aren’t in my deleted items anymore?!
Me: Yes, because deleted items are gone after 30 days. <Bold text indicating that items in trash folders should never be assumed to be anything but ephemeral>
Them: <Several paragraphs about how they know what deleted items folders are for and would never use them as an archive>
Me (Thinking): Ok… Then why are we having this conversation? Your initial email says you “can’t tell [me] how often i have to search for items in my deleted folder” (quote), implying you do it frequently. That sounds like you’re using your deleted items as a historical archive to me.
I don’t like people.
the phrase “Great, we’re in agreement then : you cant do X. Glad I could help” solves most things.
So, Im going to remake shortly. Maybe it’ll be a tombstone, but regardless Ive had a lot of people ask what happened to WF & Co and it seems to be a spreading malaise in need of correction.
What keeps me going? I wish I had a good answer for this. I’d like to say I thrive on game and systems but that’s just self medication, as is alcohol and its many abuses, as is sex and violence. Trying not to get bored. I spent a week in my late teens making batches of souffles till I got it right. till I had it down cold. I’ve since forgotten how. I spent my early twenties absorbing pretty much the entire WoW database into my head. Raid-leading, guild management. 24 other people reliant on you to do right. Sure, its a stupid game, but then so is showing up and putting 8 hours in moving pieces of paper around in an office, knowing that if you didnt show up, literally nothing would change.
Try not to let yourself get bored. People outside the equation, or that have suffered from acute or temporary depression as opposed to chronic will tell you to keep one foot in front of the other. Shuffle forwards. The key for me is always having another foot to put my weight on. Games, Sex, Alcohol. I read a lot of science, philosophy, a lot of math and medical stuff that’s way way outside of my understanding because it keeps me occupied. Im not saying you gain some sort of nirvanian peace from this relentless aquisition of knowledge, but it keeps you moving forwards. keeps you being interested enough in the world to want to move forwards.
How do you keep from giving in and offing yourself?
Do they give you something to live for?
I did a swan dive when I was 12 and frankly nothing ahs been the same since. Suicidal ideation during a good week is maybe once every two days. During a bad week I am drowning, and escaping the thought to die is impossible and life merely becomes managing the urge to follow through. The knowledge that things get better helps. Knowing that they will improve, only to worsen, and then improve again : the world turns. shit happens. Maybe good shit. If you just hang on, maybe great shit.
Knowing that they get better is also a bad thing. it undermines your capacity for release. Why sob your heart out when tomorrow you might be ok again? you can feel yourself leeching the solidity even out of your own misery and that can be terrible. Reading about the gamblers fallacy helped me deal with an issues ive assumed from my life : that things improving is a toxic sign that things are about to become almost insurmountably bad.
So what stops me from killing myself? my relationships help give me a reason to not cave. they help frame my good spots, and when I’m in a bad one they are a useful, uncontaminated memory; reminding me that yesterday was good, that last week was brilliant. They take the pictures to remind me that I was smiling. Ultimately, their existence doesn’t stop the fact that Im depressed, but they help as a toolset to enable me to attack my symptoms.
That, plus the knowledge gained from experience : If I don’t kill myself things might get better. If things might get better, then its likely I can affect that "might" into a "probably will".
How do you do it?
With a great deal of difficulty at times. I try not to
write about I try not to post about it, because typically its stuff Ive written and has been said a million times before by greater, smarter, more adept people other than myself. Life sucks. I am isolated by my neural chemistry and my upbringing and my sexuality and a host of other things. In the game of square pegs and round holes I am Dinis Surface or a tesseract or an octopus made of live human skin grafts.
It is tempting to box oneself off and retreat into self diagnosis and snowflake syndrome. Don’t do that. That’s just another form of death, just a way for you to say “these things will never change”. Bullshit. We are the product of millions of years of evolution. We bombed Hiroshima. We put a man on the moon. We died in death camps. we are conceieved in test tubes. In the aggregate, the human race is capable of incredible things, both terrific and terrifying. Beating depression is not like beating a boxer in the ring, it is like beating the morning commute. Whether its the radio or starbucks or sneakily masturbating at red lights : Whatever gets you through.
The externality of tumblr feminism irritates me a lot. Dear collegiate white girls; you’re pissed at cat-calls and rape culture- you only know the name Malala because western publicists wish it to be so; you think brown girls weren’t dying for education till now?
I get the argument that we all need to start somewhere, but I feel that the bulk of the rank and file unifies behind Malala because she is a noble brown girl, CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS A MINUTE; and by the way, while we have your attention tax on tampons is kind of bullshit.
It’s feels bizarrely exploitative. It feels creepily racist. It feels like you know that when you complain about issues affecting white women that you know on a global scale that they are bullshit, but rather than try and legitimise and rationalise the reality of them, to flatly explain why they are shit, you want to bandwagon. The girls in Yemen. The girls in Nigeria. Those nameless blacks girls invented that thing, no names, white media? Outrageous and predictable. You care real hard, but you’re only going on slutwalks. You’re not writing your senator.
I’m going to be deleting this tumblr over the next couple of weeks. I woke up to find that my porn blogs were deleted and that tumblr has explicitly stated in their “here’s what happened” email that they aren’t interested in resolving this matter.
interestingly enough, they havent removed any of the original content that I uploaded through those accounts, which would seem like the most obvious first step to take.
Given that I have no recourse to account reinstatement, to refute the absurd reason for its deletion or to the removal of my own content, I cannot in good faith continue to be a part of a community which would profit from my work whilst excluding and silencing its creator.
Thank you for your time.
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