And 4 months later... Well, almost, anyway.

Between 4 and 5 days ago, most of the friends I made during university life had their convocation back at the hell in which I have suffered for the past 3 years. These are people whom with most contact has been lost entirely, while a handful of others I do what I can to maintain irregular contact when regular is not possible, some I still secretly stalk through Facebook (not so secretly now that I’m putting it out here in the open) and some others I wish I had less fucks to give. It’s the same sort of feeling 5 years ago, when I just finished secondary school; wishing I’d be able to keep in touch with a handful of people yet realizing that from that point on it would be more difficult to do so, as everyone gets on with their lives and the involvement of one another in it isn’t largely possible.

Which reminds me; having zero fucks to give is apparently an unhealthy way of being. I say apparently because this is opposed by 3 years’ worth of psychology classes, but supported by the counselling subtopics within. While psychology will tell you to not give a flying toss about what people think of you, how they judge you and whatnot while asking that you don’t judge others either, counselling will tell you to care about your interpersonal relationships, to work towards strengthening it and the like, in other words, telling you to give some fucks about what you think of others and what they think of you.

Life experiences, however, tells me that counselling is bollocks. This is because the more you care about it, chances are (when I say chances, it actually is 100%) that at some point you will be disappointed. Every time I actually cared about something and worked towards that something, the end result will almost always be exactly as if I did not care one bit, sometimes worse.  It’s kind of like the English proverbs, one going “distance makes the heart grow fonder” while another goes “out of sight, out of mind.” Life tells me to go with the second one as the first one is clearly bollocks. Otherwise there would be no such thing as losing contact with friends. The irony? I thought so too.

So yes, the irony of my life is that I have learned to care as little as possible about matters not directly concerning me in order to protect my sanity but at the same time the act of not caring makes me a clinically depressed person. And for real this time, too; I’ve been officially diagnosed as clinically depressed about half a year ago so you fellas who are not sick in the head reading this might want to take things I say with a pinch of salt, seriously. Yes, I am aware of the irony this time as well.

I am actually even seeing a therapist semi-regularly according to whenever she schedules the appointments, and the stuff she tells me just further justifies my opinion on the whole matter. I am being given the impression now that whenever I see something pointless and mundane on the internet, instead of merely being indifferent like I always do, I’m supposed to feel strongly for or against whatever that piece of information might be. Instead of just going “meh, might be some rumour mongering, I’ll check it out later,” I’m expected to explode with emotion, “I KNOW RIGHT!? THAT IS SO TOTALLY TRUE!” or “WHAT ABSOLUTE NONSENSE IS THIS SHIT? THE AUTHOR DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE/SHE IS TALKING ABOUT!” So as a result, I’d feel really good about myself because someone agrees with me or I’d explode with anger and compromise my sound mind if someone disagrees with me.

And if you’d notice, this also means gambling is good for your mental health. Checking out the internet is like checking out the table. Act indifferently to whatever you see or read on the internet is like acting indifferently and not placing your bet. Once you place your bet, however, you’re very likely to explode with the same kind of emotion is the same way as well, because when you win, you’re actually just getting agreeable results like you’d get from agreeable info off the net, and vice versa when you lose. The only difference is when you gamble, there’s anticipation that further amplifies the emotion, while when surfing the net things tend to be more spontaneous. Probably explains why previously only the rich bother with mental health while middleclass people and lower don’t really care too much; because only the rich can afford to gamble. Fortunately for me I got the psychiatrist to refer me to a therapist who works for a semi-government hospital, so I don’t have to pay for the treatment. For now, at least.

So there you have it. I am mentally ill because I have gone through more shit than most people who are mentally sound have. So my words are words of wisdom gained from experience which people should heed, but then again they should not because the very experience that made me wise also made me mad.

And on that bombshell, adieu to y’all.