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nomoreemails · 5 years

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why aren’t we all talking about how bad it feels to be alive

Sometimes, when I’m on drugs, I have a great time and can watch a whole season of Planet Earth and be totally ecstatic about sloths, or lie on the ground in the dark joyfully listening to a really bad album on repeat. But recently, more often than not, I’ll think one single solitary thought about climate change or mass shootings or U.S. imperialism or the opioid crisis or the state-sanctioned obesity in the Pacific Islands and spiral until I’m thinking about all of those things at once and having a complete fucking meltdown. I’ve also developed pretty bad insomnia since moving to New York. You can probably guess why.

I’ve finally come to accept that I mostly hate living here. There are a lot of reasons, chiefly among them that everyone here is obsessed with developing a brand and also that in most cases I would rather individually pull 30 hairs out of my head than try to get from point A to point B. But living here also forces you to face the reality of the United States, which is that economic and social mobility are a lie. Cities like this are sites of two class tiers, one for the “knowledge class,” college-educated people who work in fields like engineering, writing, business, policy, etc — for whom upwards mobility actually is attainable — and then the other sector that performs service work for them.

Obviously there’s some overlap (if I hear one more Brooklynite who works in publishing and went to an Ivy League lament their second restaurant job they need to pay the bills, I’ll scream), but if you’ve ever lived in a major U.S. city you’ve probably observed this too. Every day I watch my Twitter feed (mostly white, liberal, college-educated folks who also work in journalism) wring their hands over Amazon warehouse conditions and taxi driver suicides and wage theft at the hands of the gig economy, and then we all go home and open packages delivered Amazon workers, take Ubers because they’re cheaper, get food delivered by some guy who almost died five times trying to bike to your place and then gets his tips stolen by his employer. I don’t think it makes you a bad person to use these services. But, personally, every time I think about how boundlessly I have exploited labor invisible to me for the sake of minor conveniences, I want to stab myself in the face. Does everyone else feel like that?

All this to say — I feel suffocated, on a daily basis, by all the ways that I’m complicit no matter what I do. I’m overwhelmed by everything all the time. It’s hard to respond to texts or be present in my relationships when so much of what’s on my mind is so abjectly wretched, especially when the source has little to do with me and my choices (which my friends can advise me upon) and everything to do with the external world (which they can’t).

A few days ago I posted something to my Instagram story in the middle of the night, after hours of staring at my ceiling in the dark. Against a black background, it read: “Do u ever get super stoned and end up on the most depressing rabbit hole imaginable on wikipedia and cry and lie in bed awake thinking that all of human modernity was a mistake and that u wish we could all just die off immediately in a mass extinction? 🌟it’s great🌟”. This seemed to hit a nerve among my friends: within minutes, one responded with that laughing-but-also-crying emoji; another said “tbh yeah,” another said, with utmost sincerity, “every time, which is why I can’t get stoned anymore.”

So, everyone else does feel like this? Is any of this normal? How is anyone expected to be functional under the system of exploitation designed hundreds of years ago by a bunch of megalomaniacal men who created the self-destructing dystopia we live in? Every day I trudge to work, sit at my desk, read the news, wonder why I bothered to get out of bed. Am I actually, I don’t know, clinically depressed and anxious, or am I just experiencing run-of-the-mill side effects of living under the circumstances we do?

For many of my peers and me, it feels especially cursed to be in in our early twenties right now. On top of everything else….. our personal lives suck, by definition, and nothing we care about matters. Why try to improve your work situation (in which you’re likely getting underpaid in a position you’re overqualified for, or being treated like a weasel, or maybe both), pay off your student debt, learn anything about personal finances, figure out what you want to do with your life, have any long-term dreams at all when there’s a very real possibility you’ll die suddenly in a shooting or slowly, excruciatingly, with climate change?

I used to despair over other things, like: whether to choose an easy, comfortable lifestyle by becoming an engineer, or going another route. If working any job at all would inevitably compromise my principles, one way or another. Whether I felt authenticity and fulfillment in my relationships. The yearning for community and belonging. The moral backing of my day-to-day actions, or lack thereof. (And also, obviously: whether to buy those shoes, what to do with my eyebrows, if I was gaining weight, if I was losing weight.)

I still think about most of those things, but now it feels luxurious to agonize over interior minutiae, to ignore the larger existential scarcity of participating in a society and a world in decline.

I find it frankly insane that in the span of one hour I can think such thoughts as “if Tobin Heath and Christen Press aren’t secretly married I’ll kill myself” and “I wonder how much money is in my 401(k)” and also, as I survey the absurd amount of trash my household has generated in two days, “what’s the point of existing if all I do is put permanent garbage on this planet?” I mean, I’m not even going to see whatever’s in my 401(k) until the year 2060 — what am I expecting, to have a totally normal and chill retirement because the world in 2060 will be totally normal and chill? I’m not even really expecting to be alive in 2060. What’s the point of plotting out my trajectory, financial and otherwise, for even the next ten years, much less 40, when pretty soon we’re all probably going to be living in bunkers eating cockroach jelly as we watch artificial projections of polar bears and sequoias?

Being alive right now kind of feels like experiencing the churning annihilation of stability, of beauty, of moral purpose, of all the things I’ve believed since childhood I would live my life pursuing.

On an ethical basis, I want to resist cynicism, keep myself from acclimating to the barrage of atrocities brought upon by the Trump era, stay despairing, stay angry. On a practical basis, I also want to remain functional. It’s an impossible psychological position to straddle, like giving myself a black eye every night to remind myself to feel pain while doing a job that fully depends on my having an unbruised face. When, for example, another mass shooting happens, I almost feel myself having an out-of-body experience, knowing that it never stops being sickening and astonishing but also that it has become common, unremarkable, and that to be able to get out of bed and go to work and blandly say good when someone blandly asks how are you and see my friends and talk about anything other than how awful everything is, I have to be able to raise my own misery bar. But that, of course, only adds to the cycle. It’s almost worse to know you’re capable of adjusting.

Recently I logged back into Tumblr for the first time in years, just to see how things are over here. One post read, no context necessary, “looking for a group of 5 to 7 women who will sit on the floor and wail with me in grief.” Another: “why are we still here? just to suffer? every day i get emails.”

Why are we still here? Just to suffer, beg hot celebrities to dismember us, try our best to ignore the cognitive dissonance of our constant warring desires to live ethically and also to enjoy our lives, both impossible? Every day I get emails; every day I want to reply, just once, I am not going to uphold my responsibilities because we live in a ravaged world. I feel sick with anxiety pretty much all the time. Do you, too?

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