Anti-Natalism and Mental Illness Mash-Up

I’m back again. This is my second post of the night. A lot of my posts deal with my discussing my mental illness as well as my anti-natalist views. I figured why not post a blog that touches on both of these topics? People get the wrong impression as far as anti-natalists are concerned. They think we’re a bunch of misanthropic assholes who just think the world should burn. I’m not going to lie, I am pretty misanthropic, but I consider myself a philanthropic misanthrope. I try to do good by others and extend a hand if someone needs help, but if the human race were to die out tomorrow then I think it’d be for the best and we had it coming for a long time anyway.

Mental illness seems to run in my family. Dad was bipolar. My sister’s bipolar. My mom suffers from depression and anxiety. I think about people who have mental illness in their family who have children and wonder why they decided to have said children. I wonder the same thing about people who have issues such as diabetes, cancer, and things of that nature that run in their families. Why do you want to pass these things onto other people? It’s cruel if you ask me.

People don’t consider what they may be putting their offspring through nor what they may be putting themselves through. I’ll never have children so I’ll never experience the pain of losing a child, but for those out there who suffer with mental illness and have passed it onto their children, what if your children don’t deal with it as well as you do? What if they can’t or don’t get the help they need and do something drastic? It could lead to something tragic, something tragic that could have been avoided had you just not decided to procreate in the first place.

Procreation isn’t fair to the unborn. You’re giving them a life that they didn’t ask for and quite possibly a life they’re going to not end up wanting as they get older. What then? I suppose you could get them help with a professional and get them on some meds, but those don’t always work. Speaking from experience, I’ve been through my share of meds and therapies to try to “get better” and I still struggle daily with thoughts of suicide. They haven’t been as prominent in recent months, but they’re still at the back of my mind. What’s usually on my mind these days is wishing I’d never been born in the first place.

I, like billions of others, had no say in this matter. I just struggle to understand why my parents wanted to have me knowing what ran in the family. Is it any surprise to anyone that I’d be stuck here suffering through the same issues, suffering with the same thoughts and feelings? The shitty part is that I think as I get older, it gets worse. I’m just getting closer and closer to the grave and for some reason it’s starting to worry me a bit and I don’t know why. I wasn’t always afraid of death like I am now.

Why do you want to put others through things like this? It’s not fair to them. We all know life isn’t fair so spare others from experiencing that. Spare others from experiencing thoughts of their own demise. Spare others from the stigma that’s associated with mental illness. Just spare others from pain by leaving them in whatever realm they’re in before this thing called life begins.

I Like the Way You Work It. No Dignity.

Everything is testing my patience today. For one thing the two dogs are restless and I just want them to settle down for the night, but that’s not my main issue. That’s just a minor inconvenience at the moment. They’ll eventually calm down. The main problem I’m having is family related. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it before, but my grandmother has dementia. I’ve been helping my mother take care of her for the past five years. My grandfather had it as well, but he passed three years ago (or maybe it was two years ago. I can’t remember.)

The rest of my family lives in their own little world of denial and seem to think that she’s going to get better. There’s no cure for dementia. It gradually gets worse until the person’s brain pretty much just withers away and they die. No one but my mom, my sister, and I see this for some reason.

At one point it was mentioned by one of my mom’s sisters that I do more to help with my grandmother and that triggered an “Excuse the merry fuck out of me!” response considering I do more to take care of the old bat than my aunt had ever done. I am someone who constantly says how much I do not want children and stand quite firm when it comes to that. I don’t want to take care of a child, much less a 90-year-old woman who acts like a child. If you don’t believe me then spend an afternoon with the woman and see. She pouts, throws tantrums, can’t wipe her ass (and I’m sure as fuck not going to wipe it for her. I leave that for my mom and aunts.)

I’m dealing with my own mental illness and on my particularly bad days it takes all I have to crawl out of bed. I do what I can because my mom asks me to do it and I want to help my mom since she’s done so much for me all these years. I know my mom doesn’t fully understand my mental illness, but that’s my fault for not really opening up about it like I should. She does understand a bit of it, though. She has also informed her sisters about it and that I’m not capable of taking care of someone else with a mental illness like dementia.

It seems like a game of catch when it comes to my grandmother, just tossing her around from one family member to the other. In all honesty, I wish they’d just put her in a home. That may sound cruel to some of you out there reading this, but I think it’d be the best thing for her. She can get constant care. My mom and one of her sisters both work full-time jobs, which is why I’ve stepped in over the past five years to help out. My mom’s other sister is retired and who the fuck knows why she doesn’t just take her? She’s too worried about it cutting into her vacations she takes with her husband, I suppose.

I’ve been stressed ever since my grandmother returned and I’ve been avoiding her in order to avoid a fight. I used to never swear around her, but there was a time a few months back where she was fighting me as far as taking her medication and I had to yell at her, “Take your fucking pills!” Do I sound like the kind of person suited for this fucking job? I didn’t think so, either.

I don’t know why living into old age is something people strive for. If you’re going to lose your mind then you might as well take yourself out because it’s not pretty. Fuck dying with dignity. There’s no such thing.

Dead Before 40

I don’t know how to describe what I feel. I’ve been told that I write well, but when it comes to writing what I feel and how I react to certain situations I’m not sure how they come across to other people. I’m bipolar. My manic episodes aren’t what you think of as manic. I don’t go on these huge spending sprees or let loose and go crazy. I’m kind of simplistic manic. I’m calm and collected. It’s “hypomania.” I’m not full on manic at all. My sister is full on manic. My dad was full on manic. I don’t get those symptoms. I just feel a little better than usual. My mood is elevated more than normal. I’m not sure how to describe it.

I’m up for doing adventurous things, but nothing too risky. If someone says “Hey, want to climb a mountain today?” Fuck yeah! Let’s do that! I can carry on with my daily life when the hypomania comes along. It’s when the depression comes along that I don’t feel like myself. The depression is what gets to me. I’m just now coming out of a depressive episode which has lasted for about two months now.

I explained my moods to my psychiatrist. I go from feeling normal, which is like getting to the top of the rollercoaster, but then it plummets tremendously and I don’t know what to do with myself. I relate it back to my dog, Denver. Denver was my best friend. I had him for 14 years. He was a puppy when I first got him. I’d take him for walks every single day, twice a day. I enjoyed my walks with him. However long he wanted to walk, that’s how long we walked. I’d let him sniff whatever he wanted and just let him go about his merry way. That was me when I was feeling normal. When my depression crept in I knew things were different. I’d try to pull him back toward the house. I’d get impatient. I wanted him to do his business and let’s get back so I could just go back to bed.

Now that Denver is dead I don’t feel the need to get up for anything anymore. I sleep all day. I look at my phone and see messages from friends and I just have no desire to reply to them. There’s nothing I have to say and nothing they can say that can make things any better. I want life to just stop. I want a pause. I want an end. I want an out. I truly don’t know how to describe what I feel. I think the best way to put it is that I don’t want to feel anything at all. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to feel like shit about shit that I can’t control.

I think about things from my past that have been said and done and I ruminate over them and obsess over them, wishing I could take shit back. Do people that I hurt remember that I hurt them? I’ve said some stupid shit in my 32 years on this planet to people. Do people think back on stupid shit I said to them and have a good laugh about it? We all like to think that we don’t care what others think about us, but deep down I think we really do. I know I do and I have no reason to give a shit. Why should I give a fuck what I said to some asshole in kindergarten? I do, though. I give a fuck and I wonder if they think back on what I said and have a good laugh about it.

I like to think there’s an unspoken rule that things that happen or things that are said when we’re drunk don’t get mentioned when we’re all sober the next day. I know that’s not true, though. Friends of mine subtly bring up shit that I said or did years ago when I was hammered and I quickly change the subject. I don’t want to be reminded of what happened back then. It just brings up bad memories that I’d much rather forget.

I think I’ve gone off topic as I tend to do. I just know that I beat myself up when it comes to what I’ve said and done in the past and I wish there was some way I could fix that, but I don’t think that I can. I think that’s why I try so many drugs – legal and otherwise – to try to fix myself. I don’t want to remember a lot of what I’ve said and done in the past. The only solace I find is in the fact that I’m going to be dead before I reach the age of 40 and none of this is going to matter in the slightest.

A Guide to Driving Yourself Crazy

I don’t know if you know what it’s like to be aware of what tomorrow is going to bring for the most part and still be terrified of it. I know what I’m going to do every day. There are no surprises and I prefer it that way. Surprises aren’t always good. A part of me prefers the monotony of my life. It’s safer. I think I’ve mentioned that I’ve become more and more of a shut-in as of late. I would rather not go anywhere and risk getting injured or worse. What a contradiction coming from someone who wishes they’d never been born in the first place. Just because I wish for non-existence doesn’t mean I want to die at the moment.

I’ve mentioned before how death never bothered me until recently. Now it’s all I can think about. It’s why I stay in the house. It’s why I don’t venture out more. I’m terrified of trying anything new. I hate going new places, unfamiliar places. I hate that I’ve gotten this way and I don’t know what to do about it.

I dread when friends ask me if I want to do something because that means I’m going to have to step out of the comfort of my own home where I feel safe. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I leave. Any number of things can go wrong and I start playing these scenarios out in my head over and over again. We could get in a wreck. We could get robbed. We could get shot by some asshole that wants to be famous by killing a few dozen people. See? Any number of things can go wrong out there.

I don’t think I can truly convey how real this fear is of mine. Any time I do manage to work up the courage (and believe me, it takes a lot for me) to go out somewhere I’m looking for the nearest exits in the event something goes horribly wrong. I have friends in other countries that I’d love to visit, but I’m afraid I never will because all I can think about is the plane crashing into the ocean and myself drowning even though someone assured me I’d be dead before I’d actually drown, but still … given my recent paranoia that something terrible is going to happen to me or a loved one, I don’t want to risk anything.

This all leads to such a boring life for me now. I dread when people want to play catch up with me. “What have you been up to as of late?”

“Me? Oh, nothing. I sit at home in constant fear, afraid to go out into the world because I don’t know what’s going to happen from one day to the next. I could get shot, stabbed, run over by a car. I also drive myself crazy because I have no control over what happens in the lives of those I care about, and I have to live with the knowledge that at any moment someone I love can be snatched away from me, but enough about me. How about you? How have you been? I hear you’re doing quite well for yourself while I’ve been having nervous breakdowns for the past three or four months. What’s it like to live a normal life and not dread what’s coming tomorrow?”

The Happiness of Non-Existence: Anti-Natalism Chronicles XIII

Picture a non-existent person if you can. It’s not a person because it doesn’t exist. You can’t give something that doesn’t exist a name. It’s nothing. There’s a void that exists before we come into the world. It’s where we all start. Two people get together and fuck and if they’re unlucky one of them (I’m referring to the woman in case you don’t know already) conceives a fetus. I call the thing a fetus because it is not a child. You are not a child until you are born. You are not sentient. A child, a baby, a newborn is sentient; it feels.

If a fetus could feel, was sentient, had a consciousness, would it want to be born? I don’t think it would. Imagine it was able to perceive and take in the world outside of the womb. What would it think? Would it want to come into a world full of so much hate and despair? None of us would, but we have no say in the matter. Our own selfish desire to have sex leads to unplanned pregnancies with mothers having to make a difficult choice whether or not to go through with the pregnancy.

We’re brought into a world plagued by war, famine; some unsure if they’re going to make it to the next day. Will there be food on the table? Will the clothes on our backs be enough to last us through another season? These are things people do not consider when they make the decision to breed. They believe having a child is morally right.

I would argue that it’s immoral to have a child not knowing if you’re able to take care of it. If you’re unprepared, not ready, then why is it there are those out there telling you that you should have to take care of another living human? It’s only when the fetus is inside the womb that people care so much. After its birth no one cares if it lives or dies. There is a certain age where people stop caring about other people. I’m not sure when that happens, but it’s true.

After someone’s birth, years later, that person becomes a burden. You want medical coverage? Too bad. Are you unable to care for yourself? So sorry. No one gave you a blueprint nor a map. You don’t get any instructions as far as how to take care of yourself in a world you never asked to inhabit in the first place.

Things were so much better in the void. The plane of non-existence never hurt anyone. When existence comes into the picture is when all the pain and suffering starts; from the first scrape or broken bone you get as a child up to the cancer or heart disease you develop as an adult. None of this would cause us any worry, any harm, any pain if it all just ceased to exist in the first place. The right thing, the moral thing to do is to not be at all.

The Beauty of Non-Existence: Anti-Natalism Chronicles XII

Do any of us really know what happens after death? We all have our varying beliefs, but no one really knows until they’ve experienced it, and it’s not like any of them can come back and let us know if they’re having a good time or if the whole death thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m sure it has its ups and downs like anything else. You no longer have to worry about bills or your health, but you’re also missing out on shit that others are doing that maybe you would have enjoyed if you were still alive.

This is another argument for putting an end to procreation. None of us know what life was like before being brought into this world and none of us had a bad day because of it. I don’t remember anything about being a year old, being in the womb, and I most certainly don’t remember anything before that. Nothing bad happens when you don’t exist. It’s when you bring people into existence. That’s when problems start.

I’ve been struggling as of late. I’ve mentioned it a time or two. I’ve slipped into another depressive episode and can’t shake it. Another day has gone by and another one is going to come and go tomorrow. I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring or what the next few months or few years are going to bring. I just know now more than ever that time is ticking away and there’s nothing I can do about it. I suppose I could kill myself, but that would leave others behind and I don’t want to do that, but the thought crosses my mind time and time again. I was doing so well with keeping the suicidal thoughts at bay, too.

I would never have had these problems had I never been born. I think we’ve seen a movie or a television show where an angel or ghost of some sort comes to a person and shows them what life would have been like had they never been born. These mediums always paint existence in a positive light because we all want to feel better at the end of the day. That’s why we turn to sitcoms and banal shit such as that. We want to feel better. When I lie in bed at night, I don’t feel better. I feel like things would be better without me here.

If it were up to me, I’m talking about being in the spirit realm or whatever came before I was conceived, I would have told my parents to think twice about deciding to have a child. If I got to have a look at everything that would happen to me and see how it all turns out for me in the end; the good, the bad, the ups and downs, I believe I’d choose not being born at all. It’s the constant worry of what’s going to happen from one day to the next. No one has to worry about that when they don’t exist.

No one has to worry at this moment. I’m not going to do anything drastic. I don’t even know how many of you out there still read the dribble I spill onto this fucking site. I’m not longing for death. I’m longing for never being born in the first place.

Forget It. It’s Sooze-Town.

I’ve noticed my social anxiety and depression have gotten worse as of late. I can’t listen to anyone because I’m too focused on all the shit going on in my head. I have kept it all bottled up for weeks now, and I realized that maybe I should just write everything down that’s going on so maybe I can have it all in one place as kind of a go-to if I need it when I see my psychiatrist in a few weeks.

I don’t know why it started. I was doing so well with my medication, but I started talking about things that don’t really matter with my psychiatrist in order to avoid what’s really bothering me. I do that more often than I’d like to admit. I’m prone to keeping things bottled up like I always have. I know that talking things through helps, but sometimes I can’t make myself do it. I feel like my problems are insignificant, like they don’t matter.

I find it hard to sleep at night because of all the thoughts that go racing through my head. I’m 32-years-old and I have nothing to show for it. I’m terrified of absolutely everything these days and I’ve become a shut-in basically. I can’t drive due to epilepsy, but I want to get out of the house so when the opportunity arrives to go for a drive with someone I always go, but I stay in the car. I can’t bring myself to get out and go inside anywhere. All the people make me nervous. I get nervous being surrounded by so many people and then realizing all those people making me nervous makes me even more nervous. I break out into a sweat. I start fidgeting. I pace back and forth.

I’m not getting any younger and the thought of death is always in the back of my mind. I know we’re all going to die and I used to be accepting of that fact, but as I get older and realize my time is running out I’m becoming less and less OK with it. I’ve always had a great relationship with my mom, and she has always been the one constant in my life; I fear something happening to her and never seeing her again. I don’t know how to shake these feelings. I dread the days she goes to work. I dread the times she has to fly to another state for work. I have this constant fear that something is going to happen to her and I’m not going to know how to handle it.

Then there’s the fear of something happening to me. I know when I’m dead it will all be over for me and I won’t know any different, but it’s just the thought of being dead and thinking about those I left behind and the impact it will have on them. My dad committed suicide fifteen years ago. My grandfather died three years ago. My mom’s boyfriend died almost two years ago. What’s my mom going to do if something happens to me?

It’s stupid, but I think about what happens after I’m dead. I think of things I’m going to miss out on when that happens, trivial things. I won’t be able to see my family or friends anymore. I won’t be able to read another book. I won’t be able to watch the shows that I enjoy. No more walks with my dog. No more sitting outside and enjoying the weather, watching the cars go by. Life goes on long after we’re gone. I want to leave something behind so that I can be remembered. I just don’t know what. I want to be remembered. I have this fear of being forgotten.

It’s like that one scene in “BoJack Horseman” where he says, “Is that life? You’re there, you do your thing, and then people forget.” That’s what I fear the most. I want my life to mean something. I don’t want to be forgotten. What do I have to do to make some sort of impact? I don’t want to just be another name on a tombstone. I see all those tombstones in the cemetery – names of people I never knew. I wonder if other people remember them. How many people go and visit those graves? After a while when the initial shock wears off that your loved one has passed, you visit the grave less and less. I guess I just have a fear of being forgotten. I want my life to have meaning and purpose, but I don’t know how to make that happen.