Author AE Roth, What doesn't kill you give you a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms and a really dark sense of humor. RothWrite.com, instagram @rothwrite, pinterest @rothwrite, twitter @aerothwrite
literally, I started writing emails to myself and set them to boomerang to my email address 1 year from the date. I call them OYAs (one year agos). I'm a depressive who is always hard on my past self. It's exhausting always pretending with everyone, when I let it slip even a little, people gasp and pull back in horror at my dark negativity. But what fucking world are optimists living in? It's sure as hell not this one. I'm not willing to sacrifice reason and a truthful look at the world to buy the happiness doctrine preached to injustice - this idea that we are individually responsible for personal happiness no matter how shitty conditions may be. In emails to myself I can be nakedly honest because I trust future me to still be me. The simplicity in caring for myself this way is in the trust that I'll be there in one year from today. I know I'm tricking myself but it still works: I look forward to reading these emails in a year and I'm curious: will things be better? I can coldly reject hope as stupid, but the scientist in me cannot let go of curiosity.
“I used to wonder why these writers and poets are so much interested in these moon and stars and cosmotic stuff and every heavenly bodies out there. But then, there came a phase in my life, when even my own existence was unendurable. I was frustrated with my heart, and why is it still beating with all the pain and all that swelling, always getting stuck in my throat. Like die already! And, dying wasn’t an option. Then, one day I came across a quote which said that we are all made up of remnants of stars which exploded millions of years ago and that stunned my mind. I went outside and looked at the night sky. I looked up, I don’t even remember if I ever looked up at the night sky before that. And that too with a whole new perspective about it. Those above us our what? Our ancestors? I am made of them. We are made up of them. The interesting part is, your head might be made up of the remains of a different star and your butt of different. And who knows one of that star could have been a million years older than the other. Yeah right now, all the logical-practical-sciencepeeps must be shaking their head at this theory of mine but this theory gives me a feeling that I haven’t find a name for, yet. This universe has no stop, no edge, like can you imagine how vast it is, our galaxy, and may be a million galaxies like us, and may be one planet like earth on every galaxy. And those exo-planets? What about them? And that black hole, which is most probably going to swallow us whole someday. Means not ‘us’ but another set of ‘us’. I feel so small, and so NOT alone. For once I might not feel a part of my family here but I am a part of this universe. My daily problems might not get solved with this theory and ofcourse I am not getting rich or anything. But when I am down, it make me realize that I am still a part of this vast universe and I am here. And it is solacing. It calms something inside me.”
“Dreams are always crushing when they don’t come true. But it’s the simple dreams that are often the most painful because they seem so personal, so reasonable, so attainable. You’re always close enough to touch, but never quite close enough to hold and it’s enough to break your heart.”
Sometimes people hit a place in their life where things are going really well. They like their job and are able to be productive at it; they have energy after work to pursue the relationships and activities they enjoy; they’re taking good care of themselves and rarely get sick or have flareups of their chronic health problems; stuff is basically working out. Then a small thing about their routine changes and suddenly they’re barely keeping their head above water.
(This happens to me all the time; it’s approximately my dominant experience of working full-time.)
I think one thing that’s going on here is that there are a bunch of small parts of our daily routine which are doing really important work for our wellbeing. Our commute involves a ten-minute walk along the waterfront and the walking and fresh air are great for our wellbeing (or, alternately, our commute involves no walking and this makes it way more frictionless because walking sucks for us). Our water heater is really good and so we can take half-hour hot showers, which are a critical part of our decompression/recovery time. We sit with our back to the wall so we don’t have to worry about looking productive at work as long as the work all gets done. The store down the street is open really late so late runs for groceries are possible. Our roommate is a chef and so the kitchen is always clean and well-stocked.
It’s useful to think of these things as load-bearing. They’re not just nice - they’re part of your mental architecture, they’re part of what you’re using to thrive. And when they change, life can abruptly get much harder or sometimes just collapse on you entirely. And this is usually unexpected, because it’s hard to notice which parts of your environment and routine are load bearing. I often only notice in hindsight. “Oh,” I say to myself after months of fatigue, “having my own private space was load-bearing.” “Oh,” after a scary drop in weight, “being able to keep nutrition shakes next to my bed and drink them in bed was load-bearing.” “Oh,” after a sudden struggle to maintain my work productivity, “a quiet corner with my back to the wall was load-bearing.”
When you know what’s important to you, you can fight for it, or at least be equipped to notice right away if it goes and some of your ability to thrive goes with it. When you don’t, or when you’re thinking of all these things as ‘nice things about my life’ rather than ‘load-bearing bits of my flourishing as a person’, you’re not likely to notice the strain created when they vanish until you’re really, really hurting.
Almost two weeks after reading this, and I’m still kind of blown away at what a ridiculously fruitful definition this is. Like I had no idea that load bearing things were a thing that needed to have a word for them, but now I’m like holy shit I’m so glad that there’s now a word I can use to refer to this really important class of Thing.
Fuck the pursuit of happiness, I want to wring more out of my days than some flippant, self-absorbed, feeling. I want to do something that matters. I want to look back and know that whatever I feel about my life is irrelevant because I have solid evidence my actions made a positive difference.
But in this socioeconomic political system, I might as well wish to ride a unicorn leaving a trail of gold and farting rainbows.
“We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”
— Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
It’s real now: the myths you grew up on. The stories of dystopian corporatocracies where kids fight corruption, the powerful magic of friendship can overthrow the privileged elite, and worlds where racism and sexism have no place because prejudice is a failing tool of the oppressor; those hold collective hope. Stories are the greatest legacy of previous generations. Everyone doesn’t recognize it yet because real life can’t possibly be as fantastic as fantasy. But this is not a test, this IS the zombie apocalypse; it’s real now.
In modern myth, the zombie virus destroys the individual, absorbing victims into a mindless hoard that adds to its numbers by attacking those nearby. We thought it would come from a secret government laboratory. Oh wait… But the real life zombie contagion is slightly different than the myth. It’s not a flu virus or a misguided cure; we all know no one is working to actually cure anything anyway, only to create more addictions. This contagion is not air-borne, but ear-borne. It is a mantra, not whispered, but screamed at the vulnerable 24/7. It is frighteningly simple. It is the message from those who profit from suffering to the suffering that others who suffer differently are responsible for all suffering. The contagion is: US vs. them.
This not the zombie apocalypse you deserve, but the one you can fight.
You do not enter this fight with visions of a better world. You’re driven by understanding the consequences of this mess far better than those who made it. Historically, leaders have possessed unyielding optimism. You don’t just recognize history’s lies but laugh at them on stage. Your battle cry is not one of optimism, but fatalism. You are Gen Z, the first generation to shun hope in favor of evidence. You fight stark reality because of the certainty of what will come if you don’t. Your motivation is not, “I can make a difference,” but, “if we all don’t make it different, we all don’t make it.”
The cruelest part of your inheritance is that you have glimpsed a liveable-topia, possible if people would simply choose not to be assholes. Instead you will be present as our paradise planet becomes unable to sustain life. You know the odds are not in your favor, but you’ve done the math, and the numbers are. The numbers that have been true in every election: the people can win if the people show up.
Cold logic, not rose-colored optimism, says you have a chance. Your biggest advantage is immunity to the zombie contagion, because the understanding that there is no US vs. them, there is only us, has evolved into your DNA. No one will be insulated from the pains of climate change and oppression in the future. You have the tools and knowledge of those who came before and you wield those tools far more effectively.
You are the wisest generation yet, so I offer no advice except this: Gen Z, don’t ask, tell older generations how to help you as the Zombie Killers. I await your orders when I show up to your march on Saturday.
It’s real now: the myths you grew up on. The stories of dystopian corporatocracies where kids fight corruption, the powerful magic of friendship can overthrow the privileged elite, and worlds where racism and sexism have no place because prejudice is a failing tool of the oppressor; those hold collective hope. Stories are the greatest legacy of previous generations. Everyone doesn’t recognize it yet because real life can’t possibly be as fantastic as fantasy. But this is not a test, this IS the zombie apocalypse; it’s real now.
In modern myth, the zombie virus destroys the individual, absorbing victims into a mindless hoard that adds to its numbers by attacking those nearby. We thought it would come from a secret government laboratory. Oh wait… But the real life zombie contagion is slightly different than the myth. It’s not a flu virus or a misguided cure; we all know no one is working to actually cure anything anyway, only to create more addictions. This contagion is not air-borne, but ear-borne. It is a mantra, not whispered, but screamed at the vulnerable 24/7. It is frighteningly simple. It is the message from those who profit from suffering to the suffering that others who suffer differently are responsible for all suffering. The contagion is: US vs. them.
This not the zombie apocalypse you deserve, but the one you can fight.
You do not enter this fight with visions of a better world. You’re driven by understanding the consequences of this mess far better than those who made it. Historically, leaders have possessed unyielding optimism. You don’t just recognize history’s lies but laugh at them on stage. Your battle cry is not one of optimism, but fatalism. You are Gen Z, the first generation to shun hope in favor of evidence. You fight stark reality because of the certainty of what will come if you don’t. Your motivation is not, “I can make a difference,” but, “if we all don’t make it different, we all don’t make it.”
The cruelest part of your inheritance is that you have glimpsed a liveable-topia, possible if people would simply choose not to be assholes. Instead you will be present as our paradise planet becomes unable to sustain life. You know the odds are not in your favor, but you’ve done the math, and the numbers are. The numbers that have been true in every election: the people can win if the people show up.
Cold logic, not rose-colored optimism, says you have a chance. Your biggest advantage is immunity to the zombie contagion, because the understanding that there is no US vs. them, there is only us, has evolved into your DNA. No one will be insulated from the pains of climate change and oppression in the future. You have the tools and knowledge of those who came before and you wield those tools far more effectively.
You are the wisest generation yet, so I offer no advice except this: Gen Z, don’t ask, tell older generations how to help you as the Zombie Killers. I await your orders when I show up to your march on Saturday.
I just think life is meaningless altogether, most of the time. Yes, there is beauty in the moment, but beyond that? People come and go and you can never count on anyone, and life is just life; a mystery, and ultimately meaningless. The meaning is in the creation, and the creation is a human construct; and people just make up stuff in order to get through life.
René Vernor, Anything Is Possible (via books-n-quotes)
