death
I've always been afraid of death. I'm not sure there's anything else I'm actually afraid of. My mom isn't afraid. She told me she's only afraid of pain but not afraid of death. As I get older, and losing my youth, I begin realizing it more and more... maybe even by the half-year. The seniors who were once around are going one by one. The horrific tragedies that I've read. Not just Nanking but also just last Tuesday I watched the movie "Karol: the man who became a Pope". The 3-hour movie wasn't bad. A good half of it was about the Nazi wrongdoings. In particular, the lead female role said "Are they made in His image? Where is God?". These words so gripped my heart. As I have said in my post on the Nanjing Massacre, these creatures of God, like the rest of us, were all victims of evil. Especially when I recall the vivid image of hell that popped up around 1992 one day, one can never desire anybody to go there. But then, like I also said in my Nanjing Massacre blog, I never had a gun pointed at me nor have I ever witnessed any killing of humans so maybe I shouldn't speak so quickly.
Anyways, back to the topic. I think another psychological activity that goes on perhaps even at the subconscious level (as opposed to conscious) was that I sometimes just don't even want to live. I think I wrote this somewhere before. I didn't ask to exist. But then it's also a constant pull in two opposite directions because I also find things that make me really happy and look forward to experiencing again and again. And yet still another thing is there were memories of feelings that I've had when I saw certain environments or images that I'm not sure I can reproduce anymore. I mean, you can stand in a vast field of green grass under a blue sky as a kid or an adult two decades later and smell the same smells that once put a broad smile on your face and the feeling still isn't the same. When you were a kid, you didn't really have anything to be concerned about. You were full of energy and you just quite naturally enjoyed the simplicity and pureness of things. Because that's all you could see. When you become an adult, you become very conscious of something called "reality" and you know that it isn't usually as bright as the sky that stood above that field.
The things that make me look forward to, they erase my mood to look down on my life and my mood to just get rid of it. And I realize that recently after turning 30, things that made me disappointed to the bone while growing up (more on that below) would begin stirring up thoughts about just simply forgetting about this whole damn thing and end it all. But then, on the other hand, I also recall that I wrote somewhere once that I did not want to die at such an early age of even 50-something. And that all these negative thoughts would take a toll on my mind and my body so that I start getting cancer or heart problems, and then lose the will to fight, etc. That just seemed so silly if I was to bring about my own death like that. That would really suck if I caused my death to come earlier than otherwise would've because I was spinning my mind. It just isn't worth it...to be so afraid of death and yet be spending so much time and effort spinning my mind over things. Things that I'm sure there's a way to solve or overcome. I mean, if there isn't, then why I am spinning over them? Was I just not being realistic and not learning to accept it as a fact of life and then just move on? Or...am I convinced there are actually ways to resolve the issues? And what are the issues? Let's discuss them...
I was adopted. My Mom couldn't physically have children but they wanted to have a child whom they can raise to be a good and useful citizen of society. That has always been the hope they have expressed for me. Have I let them down? I mean, I've certainly done things that they weren't pleased with. I've lied, I've cheated, I've misbehaved in school. Come on, how many kids that ever existed on this planet have never done anything wrong? Not to say that it's an excuse or that I'm trying to justify myself. But still. And yet I feel there were also times when I did something that may not have happened had it not been for how my parents treated me. Now, I must say that they did not treat me wrong. But what I am saying, and I've said this in at least two other writings, is that their manifestations of their beliefs were not compatible with my own personal ideas. Yes, adoption was one manifestation that is an exception. I mean, I thank them and love them for it. Up to this day, I still see their love and bravery as being at a level I have yet if ever to achieve. Nonetheless, I have my own innate character and will accordingly develop my own ideas about things depending on the environment I developed in.
I am human after all, right? I'm not a machine; I don't have buttons for you to press to tell me to do precisely what you want. I got a mind of my own. My Dad sometimes talks to me about "psychology" and telling me to read books on it. I seriously think they should be the ones to be lectured on this. Mom tells me to read books like novels because they write about human interaction and behavior. That's quite reasonable. I used to read Famous 5, Tom Swift and Encyclopedia Brown novels, do those count? But I haven't really read any novels since after elementary school. The ones in high school don't count because they were read only because I had to. I tried to keep with my tradition of reading books that allow me to imagine and fantasize things by selecting Superman III in grade 8 but that was it. So anyways what I'm trying to say is this... I feel that my parents never really considered my feelings. Yes there were relatively minor stuff here and there, but the really important stuff, they failed to do.
From since I was little, I wanted to express my thoughts. I had ideas and I felt I had the right to express them. But they were all utterly suppressed. My parents' idea was they they've had more salt than I've had rice. They've had more years of experience in life than I have. Therefore I'm supposed to not say anything and just accept whatever they gave me. I always thought this was bullsh*t and I still think so today. How can you guarantee that you have all the right answers and that all your ideas are applicable to me? I don't care how old you are; that doesn't guarantee anything. There are certain things that are pretty much the same across the board in any place and at any time (eg: manners) but you can't be absolute about it all. All I wanted was to be able to share my feelings and ideas. But my parents dismissed it. I am not a person of much confidence and I easily end up spinning my mind about things. But even given that, there are still principles which I so firmly believe in and don't see myself doubting (yes, I realize I have limited knowledge, but still). These are not affected by my lack of self-confidence.
So from very early on, I have convinced myself that I'm right. That I have the right to express my ideas. They always say that I don't listen to them. In fact, I do. I don't necessarily agree with them or obey them. But I listened. But did they ever listened to me? I am not asking for acceptance; I'm only asking for ears. I just wanted them to be willing to know what I think about things. I've expressed my frustrations to a few of my friends. But they're just friends; they're not my parents. To me, it doesn't matter if the rest of the 6 billion people on this planet knew what I was thinking if my parents didn't want to know. Especially because these are issues that concern my parents, not anybody else. In a family with children, the parents are the most important to the child. It is the parents who feed the children, clothe them, take care of their basic needs. It is also the parents who educate them about life, nurture them well, and show them by example good ways of co-existing with others. I think all children intrinsically know this and expect this. When I become unhappy, I cry. But they don't let me. They say "What is there to be so sad about? Don't cry!". What were they thinking? Did they think I was just being unreasonably and naughty and disobedient? Or did they think I just wanted attention? Because I viewed them to be mean, I had to shut up. I was afraid they would get angry at me more. I didn't want to be abandoned. I wanted us to be happy and affectionate. I wanted to continue feeling loved and be able to snuggle in their arms from time to time. And yet, I also question myself, "Why am I putting up with this?" Am I incorrect in believing that I have the right to say things? But I'm sure that I'm not incorrect. My request was simple and very reasonable. And yet I'm stuck here facing this and yet helpless to do anything. And so I blame myself..and then my confidence just accordingly spirals down like water down a sink.
So then when my parents yell at me for wasting time or money or something practical from their point of view, I would get pissed. Because, while money and time are important to me as is to anyone else, there are other things that are equally as important to me. But they don't consider it. Or maybe they just don't think it's as important. But that doesn't mean they're not important; cuz I feel it's important. If you don't care about those other things that are important to me, then why be so uptight about only the things you think are important? Here's an example which I have used before: my computer desk. About 3 years ago, we bought a computer desk from Walmart for like $45 or something. It was a box of boards and screws that you had to assemble together yourself. Mom kept asking Dad to watch over me and help me do it. I refused. If they helped me in any way, even just watching me do it, I would not only not thank them, but I would be mad and just remember it. It would not have gone down well. It may only be a simple activity of screwing a few boards together but it meant a lot to me. Because of its simplicity, I really wanted to do it myself. It would give me a much needed boost of confidence that can take me a long way forward. I would be able to say to myself that I can do it. I could even mentally plan some little projects in the future - something for me to look forward to in life. If I was denied even just this little opportunity to gain confidence, and it was my Mom & Dad who denied me the opportunity, I would feel very upset and not cared for. All the soup and healthy tea that my Mom boils for me in the world would mean absolutely nothing. You know what I mean? It's that important to me.
In the beginning, anger only gets manifested in the mind. But if nothing is done, it can become physical. It happened to me. And perhaps it happened to anybody else who ended up shooting people or killing themselves. Yes, those people were described as "insane". Well, I think they have their reasons...and these reasons may actually be quite legit and more down-to-earth than a lot of other people who describe themselves as "normal". I mean, people aren't necessarily born to be upset and kill themselves or others. They're humans like everyone else. They can suffer emotional burdens as well. But if they don't receive needed support, they can suffer breakdown. Is that unreasonable? Is that nonsense? One time, I got so frustrated with my mom that I ended up slapping myself in the forehead. Another time after that, I slapped myself in the nose and immediately got a nosebleed. And then there was the photo-taking incident at the church. I've wrote on it elsewhere. This one time, maybe about 5 or 6 years ago, when they were preparing to build the new church on where the playground used to be and Archbishop Roussin came for a ceremony and all the men in the church were encouraged to bring a shovel. Dad wanted to look good in the pictures posing with his shovel. The battery ran out and I just decided to stay put instead of walking away. I tried looking around for Dad but couldn't see him from where I was standing so I just continued standing there. I didn't think about walking around to find him. Maybe in the back of my mind, I was afraid that if he saw me walking around instead of taking pictures of him, he would get mad. Well, by the looks of it, he might've gotten mad no matter whether I went around to find him or whether he found me standing there. Or was it still a lack of judgement on my part? I mean, even if he got pissed at me for walking around instead of taking pictures, I can still say that there was no battery and I was just wondering if you had any. That should shut him up. But anyway, I didn't go anywhere and after he learned that I couldn't take pictures, he blew up calling me "chuhn" (dumb) again and again. I got so pissed that I can tell you right now, if I had a shovel in my hand, I would have wacked myself with it. So from forehead to nosebleed to hitting myself with an iron shovel. See the pattern and direction? At that moment in my life, all the frustrations that were not easing and were just getting more physical, and the fact that my Dad was saying the very things that attacked my self-confidence (my weakest spot) was enough to set me off doing what I can only think of doing...as a final and ultimate expression of loss of hope and full of despair. Of course, I would probably yell back something first. Like....
"Yes, I'm dumb! So what? If you so mind that you have such a dumb son, then you can kill me! I won't blame you! In fact, let me help you!! That way, I don't have to ever see that frown on your face anymore and there would not be anybody anymore in your life to make you unhappy!" And then just wack myself.
Or, alternatively... imagine if I had a gun...
I could end up pointing at myself and them back and forth. I mean, at that moment, I would be so pissed thinking that they caused me to be the way I am today. For some yet-to-be-explained reason, I may desire to be more fully unified with them by ending their lives as well. I had such a strong will to reach out to their hearts and show them mine. I desired communication. Connection. Maybe it's a love gone wrong. I desired oneness and unity. I blame and shame of myself, and yet I also see my parents as being a part of me (whether biological or adoptive), so if only I died, we would not be fully united. You know what I mean? How's that for the psychology of a suicidal person?
And yet, it is a terrible sin to take your own life. I hear that you could never go to heaven. Not sure how true that is, but I think that's what the CCC says. It already sucks enough to cause oneself to die earlier but to kill oneself and not be able to go to heaven because I couldn't get anybody to listen to me? What the....
Anyways, back to the topic. I think another psychological activity that goes on perhaps even at the subconscious level (as opposed to conscious) was that I sometimes just don't even want to live. I think I wrote this somewhere before. I didn't ask to exist. But then it's also a constant pull in two opposite directions because I also find things that make me really happy and look forward to experiencing again and again. And yet still another thing is there were memories of feelings that I've had when I saw certain environments or images that I'm not sure I can reproduce anymore. I mean, you can stand in a vast field of green grass under a blue sky as a kid or an adult two decades later and smell the same smells that once put a broad smile on your face and the feeling still isn't the same. When you were a kid, you didn't really have anything to be concerned about. You were full of energy and you just quite naturally enjoyed the simplicity and pureness of things. Because that's all you could see. When you become an adult, you become very conscious of something called "reality" and you know that it isn't usually as bright as the sky that stood above that field.
The things that make me look forward to, they erase my mood to look down on my life and my mood to just get rid of it. And I realize that recently after turning 30, things that made me disappointed to the bone while growing up (more on that below) would begin stirring up thoughts about just simply forgetting about this whole damn thing and end it all. But then, on the other hand, I also recall that I wrote somewhere once that I did not want to die at such an early age of even 50-something. And that all these negative thoughts would take a toll on my mind and my body so that I start getting cancer or heart problems, and then lose the will to fight, etc. That just seemed so silly if I was to bring about my own death like that. That would really suck if I caused my death to come earlier than otherwise would've because I was spinning my mind. It just isn't worth it...to be so afraid of death and yet be spending so much time and effort spinning my mind over things. Things that I'm sure there's a way to solve or overcome. I mean, if there isn't, then why I am spinning over them? Was I just not being realistic and not learning to accept it as a fact of life and then just move on? Or...am I convinced there are actually ways to resolve the issues? And what are the issues? Let's discuss them...
I was adopted. My Mom couldn't physically have children but they wanted to have a child whom they can raise to be a good and useful citizen of society. That has always been the hope they have expressed for me. Have I let them down? I mean, I've certainly done things that they weren't pleased with. I've lied, I've cheated, I've misbehaved in school. Come on, how many kids that ever existed on this planet have never done anything wrong? Not to say that it's an excuse or that I'm trying to justify myself. But still. And yet I feel there were also times when I did something that may not have happened had it not been for how my parents treated me. Now, I must say that they did not treat me wrong. But what I am saying, and I've said this in at least two other writings, is that their manifestations of their beliefs were not compatible with my own personal ideas. Yes, adoption was one manifestation that is an exception. I mean, I thank them and love them for it. Up to this day, I still see their love and bravery as being at a level I have yet if ever to achieve. Nonetheless, I have my own innate character and will accordingly develop my own ideas about things depending on the environment I developed in.
I am human after all, right? I'm not a machine; I don't have buttons for you to press to tell me to do precisely what you want. I got a mind of my own. My Dad sometimes talks to me about "psychology" and telling me to read books on it. I seriously think they should be the ones to be lectured on this. Mom tells me to read books like novels because they write about human interaction and behavior. That's quite reasonable. I used to read Famous 5, Tom Swift and Encyclopedia Brown novels, do those count? But I haven't really read any novels since after elementary school. The ones in high school don't count because they were read only because I had to. I tried to keep with my tradition of reading books that allow me to imagine and fantasize things by selecting Superman III in grade 8 but that was it. So anyways what I'm trying to say is this... I feel that my parents never really considered my feelings. Yes there were relatively minor stuff here and there, but the really important stuff, they failed to do.
From since I was little, I wanted to express my thoughts. I had ideas and I felt I had the right to express them. But they were all utterly suppressed. My parents' idea was they they've had more salt than I've had rice. They've had more years of experience in life than I have. Therefore I'm supposed to not say anything and just accept whatever they gave me. I always thought this was bullsh*t and I still think so today. How can you guarantee that you have all the right answers and that all your ideas are applicable to me? I don't care how old you are; that doesn't guarantee anything. There are certain things that are pretty much the same across the board in any place and at any time (eg: manners) but you can't be absolute about it all. All I wanted was to be able to share my feelings and ideas. But my parents dismissed it. I am not a person of much confidence and I easily end up spinning my mind about things. But even given that, there are still principles which I so firmly believe in and don't see myself doubting (yes, I realize I have limited knowledge, but still). These are not affected by my lack of self-confidence.
So from very early on, I have convinced myself that I'm right. That I have the right to express my ideas. They always say that I don't listen to them. In fact, I do. I don't necessarily agree with them or obey them. But I listened. But did they ever listened to me? I am not asking for acceptance; I'm only asking for ears. I just wanted them to be willing to know what I think about things. I've expressed my frustrations to a few of my friends. But they're just friends; they're not my parents. To me, it doesn't matter if the rest of the 6 billion people on this planet knew what I was thinking if my parents didn't want to know. Especially because these are issues that concern my parents, not anybody else. In a family with children, the parents are the most important to the child. It is the parents who feed the children, clothe them, take care of their basic needs. It is also the parents who educate them about life, nurture them well, and show them by example good ways of co-existing with others. I think all children intrinsically know this and expect this. When I become unhappy, I cry. But they don't let me. They say "What is there to be so sad about? Don't cry!". What were they thinking? Did they think I was just being unreasonably and naughty and disobedient? Or did they think I just wanted attention? Because I viewed them to be mean, I had to shut up. I was afraid they would get angry at me more. I didn't want to be abandoned. I wanted us to be happy and affectionate. I wanted to continue feeling loved and be able to snuggle in their arms from time to time. And yet, I also question myself, "Why am I putting up with this?" Am I incorrect in believing that I have the right to say things? But I'm sure that I'm not incorrect. My request was simple and very reasonable. And yet I'm stuck here facing this and yet helpless to do anything. And so I blame myself..and then my confidence just accordingly spirals down like water down a sink.
So then when my parents yell at me for wasting time or money or something practical from their point of view, I would get pissed. Because, while money and time are important to me as is to anyone else, there are other things that are equally as important to me. But they don't consider it. Or maybe they just don't think it's as important. But that doesn't mean they're not important; cuz I feel it's important. If you don't care about those other things that are important to me, then why be so uptight about only the things you think are important? Here's an example which I have used before: my computer desk. About 3 years ago, we bought a computer desk from Walmart for like $45 or something. It was a box of boards and screws that you had to assemble together yourself. Mom kept asking Dad to watch over me and help me do it. I refused. If they helped me in any way, even just watching me do it, I would not only not thank them, but I would be mad and just remember it. It would not have gone down well. It may only be a simple activity of screwing a few boards together but it meant a lot to me. Because of its simplicity, I really wanted to do it myself. It would give me a much needed boost of confidence that can take me a long way forward. I would be able to say to myself that I can do it. I could even mentally plan some little projects in the future - something for me to look forward to in life. If I was denied even just this little opportunity to gain confidence, and it was my Mom & Dad who denied me the opportunity, I would feel very upset and not cared for. All the soup and healthy tea that my Mom boils for me in the world would mean absolutely nothing. You know what I mean? It's that important to me.
In the beginning, anger only gets manifested in the mind. But if nothing is done, it can become physical. It happened to me. And perhaps it happened to anybody else who ended up shooting people or killing themselves. Yes, those people were described as "insane". Well, I think they have their reasons...and these reasons may actually be quite legit and more down-to-earth than a lot of other people who describe themselves as "normal". I mean, people aren't necessarily born to be upset and kill themselves or others. They're humans like everyone else. They can suffer emotional burdens as well. But if they don't receive needed support, they can suffer breakdown. Is that unreasonable? Is that nonsense? One time, I got so frustrated with my mom that I ended up slapping myself in the forehead. Another time after that, I slapped myself in the nose and immediately got a nosebleed. And then there was the photo-taking incident at the church. I've wrote on it elsewhere. This one time, maybe about 5 or 6 years ago, when they were preparing to build the new church on where the playground used to be and Archbishop Roussin came for a ceremony and all the men in the church were encouraged to bring a shovel. Dad wanted to look good in the pictures posing with his shovel. The battery ran out and I just decided to stay put instead of walking away. I tried looking around for Dad but couldn't see him from where I was standing so I just continued standing there. I didn't think about walking around to find him. Maybe in the back of my mind, I was afraid that if he saw me walking around instead of taking pictures of him, he would get mad. Well, by the looks of it, he might've gotten mad no matter whether I went around to find him or whether he found me standing there. Or was it still a lack of judgement on my part? I mean, even if he got pissed at me for walking around instead of taking pictures, I can still say that there was no battery and I was just wondering if you had any. That should shut him up. But anyway, I didn't go anywhere and after he learned that I couldn't take pictures, he blew up calling me "chuhn" (dumb) again and again. I got so pissed that I can tell you right now, if I had a shovel in my hand, I would have wacked myself with it. So from forehead to nosebleed to hitting myself with an iron shovel. See the pattern and direction? At that moment in my life, all the frustrations that were not easing and were just getting more physical, and the fact that my Dad was saying the very things that attacked my self-confidence (my weakest spot) was enough to set me off doing what I can only think of doing...as a final and ultimate expression of loss of hope and full of despair. Of course, I would probably yell back something first. Like....
"Yes, I'm dumb! So what? If you so mind that you have such a dumb son, then you can kill me! I won't blame you! In fact, let me help you!! That way, I don't have to ever see that frown on your face anymore and there would not be anybody anymore in your life to make you unhappy!" And then just wack myself.
Or, alternatively... imagine if I had a gun...
I could end up pointing at myself and them back and forth. I mean, at that moment, I would be so pissed thinking that they caused me to be the way I am today. For some yet-to-be-explained reason, I may desire to be more fully unified with them by ending their lives as well. I had such a strong will to reach out to their hearts and show them mine. I desired communication. Connection. Maybe it's a love gone wrong. I desired oneness and unity. I blame and shame of myself, and yet I also see my parents as being a part of me (whether biological or adoptive), so if only I died, we would not be fully united. You know what I mean? How's that for the psychology of a suicidal person?
And yet, it is a terrible sin to take your own life. I hear that you could never go to heaven. Not sure how true that is, but I think that's what the CCC says. It already sucks enough to cause oneself to die earlier but to kill oneself and not be able to go to heaven because I couldn't get anybody to listen to me? What the....
posted by Tongster at 11:35 AM
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