I am fumbling. I am flailing. I don’t know where I’m going. Psychoanalysis is a very arduous journey and I’ve already committed 5 years of my life to it. These 5 years have aged me more than the the former twenty combined. I have suffered hell I didn’t know a human being could suffer without dying of it. I have sat in absolute, unrelenting misery for years. Suicidality has now abandoned me. It served me nicely since my twenties. I miss it. It was my way out. I no longer have a way out. Is it right to keep people alive who have wanted to die, consistently, for years and years and years? I don’t think so. I think the horrible laws that force our police-medical establishment to stop suicide at all cost are inhumane and tragic. I wish they forced cops and doctors to help people. But they don’t. They are a farce. They don’t aim at nurturing and safe-guarding life. They aim at punishing. Locking someone up for 72 hours in a dreadful psych ward is torture. I am tired of this life and this country. This country has sapped the life out of me. I have hated every day I have spent in this terrible, absolutist, fascistic, racist, xenophobic, hating country. This is not a country for the faint of heart. It kills the fragile soul inside. It dehumanizes. I’m ashamed to be living here. I’m horrified to be living here.
This post comes out of
1. My own personal state of distress and exhaustion in relation to:
2. The recent events in Boston and the craziness that has surrounded them, including cries to deny constitutional rights to the only surviving suspect, xenophobia, and islamophobia;
3. The continuing droning of Muslim and Arab countries by our government;
4. The violation of the human rights of the Guantánamo hunger strikers in the form of force-feeding;
5. The bitter fight taking place at our university over unionization of a segment of the employee force;
6. Feeling that intimacy is more and more hampered by the ways in which we communicate (the internet is wonderful when it come to making one feel less isolated but in my experience it does not foster but rather impedes intimacy);*
7. Doubtless — and this is not a superficial fact — the feeling of abandonment I experience because my therapist is attending the Div. 39 conference in Boston.
*ETA: I just called two people on the phone. Neither answered. One immediately replied to me via email. I think we, citizens of the ethersphere, may have officially stopped talking to each other.