Psymic , The Global Support Group

I get upset, depressed, anxious, enraged, and all. As soon as the phase is over, I start digging into my own emotions to trace the events that had led to them. Psychologists call this Intellectualization. I’ve been intellectualizing for a long time now and only last year started doing it in an organized way, over this blog and on a series of personal journals. I started doing it so much that all other coping strategies and defense mechanisms had entirely faded out in their efficacy.

This year, I decided to take it a step forward. I decided to develop an application entirely focused over this concept of intellectualization. I called it Psymic (psychology+mic). It has been up for over a month now but without much success. Perhaps because I need to learn to SEO it, or market it in general. Or because intellectualization isn’t a favorite coping strategy for most people. I have concluded that this powerful coping strategy needs popularization before psymic.com makes much sense to people.

If you haven’t visited it already, go to http://www.psymic.com and be one of the early adopters. Its pretty lonely in there and so psymic may not double as a psychological or emotional support group yet… but otherwise, you may love it.

The Dog

dog-183288_640

There is this bird that thinks it cannot fly and hence cannot. Since flying is in it’s instinct, it doesn’t have to be taught how to fly. It only needs to be convinced of the instinct. It’s owner tries everything he can to do that, and so does the bird itself for it wants to fly too. But suddenly a dog starts chasing the bird and whoosh, there the bird goes, up in the air.

The dog compensates for the lack of emotional intelligence in the bird.

That’s how it works for us too. Either we should find dogs to push us out of issues we’re stuck at, or synthesize them in our minds. Simple stuff. Tried a couple of times. Works.

The Obsession to create

I have an obsession. Obsession to create. You’re not surprised, I know. Because this obsession is everywhere. Artists have it. Writers have it. Scientists have it. What I really want you to know is that it is painful. The obsession hurts so much that I wish to quench it and do nothing else. I wish to be in a cave, all alone, with all the tools necessary for my creation. I don’t wish so much for the world to see the creation and appreciate me for it. Its me myself who has to see it created and pat my back. If I wasn’t under social pressures, the life i’d chose would have been apparently miserable. I’d not care for food, clothes and shelter. I’d not crave for social interaction. I’d not care getting out of my room and see the sun and stars. All I’d be doing is ‘create’.

I have this little hypothesis that like ants form successful colonies by systematically dividing their jobs, and like this splitting up of tasks stems from slight variations in how each of those ants are neurologically wired, humans have come to form a successful civilization by evolution throwing off different varieties of people and indirectly delegating different kinds of tasks to them. I was wondering… even though the obsessive types like me have miserable lives, at the end they’re pretty useful to mankind as a whole. I don’t see a reason why this hypothesis could be wrong.

Rebirth and the death of purposelessness

Last week I survived a fatal head-on car collision, owing to some random impulse that had made me fasten my seat belt. The person who had crashed into my car died. I had dropped into an altered state of consciousness and my recollection of those moments is pretty fuzzy and dream-like , something that makes me think that If I died it would have been an easy painless death. It’d be a lovely death too since my favorite philosopher, or more broadly my favorite man, Albert Camus, died in a car accident too.

The aftermath is interesting. It has two paradoxical aspects:

ONE that it has made me see life through a broader perspective, sharply reinforcing my already strong sense of absurdism. I’ve been feeling like walking dead and all of a sudden the ticking of my death clock has started being audible, too audible to let me live a normal life again.

TWO that I’ve realized that I don’t want to die since I was badly craving for life moments after the accident. Previously, I thought I’d embrace death whenever it came upon me with an absurdist’s courage. I was so wrong. The reason, however, for the urge for life was someone I loved. I couldn’t imagine them living a life anywhere near normal without me. I had to live for them. This has made me realize that my life isn’t meaningless anyway. I’m living for someone’s smiles and that someone is living for my smiles. This mutually perpetuating cycle of meaning is absurd too of course, but at individual levels these meanings are real, and worth giving up the obsession for meaning of life for.

Blunt Gloom

The Dejected Quill - by ezuhaib

Blunt Gloom. Distress. Failures. Life cannot get worse.

Life will end anyway, so why do we crave for harmony? Why do we wish to built a perfect sandcastle at the beach when we know a devastating tsunami will be arriving just a few minutes from now? Maybe because it’s the only chance we have and we wish this one-time transit to be good. Good for what? Reason cannot answer.

Suicide appears at times to be rationally correct, as the perfect revenge against irrational survival instincts mother nature dripped into our heads.

Except when I think of someone I love, someone who loves me. Her existence forces me to revert to the survival instincts and accept the bodily prison my soul is made to live in.

I have to live.

Plan Z

I’ll be moving to earth in two days, or so they say. Life is a good thing, a one-time opportunity, I’m being convinced for the last couple of weeks. “You’re not ready for it yet”, they say every time they postpone my transit to earth. “Your questions.” is what they say have to die before I’ve to live. This time, I’d be moving for sure, for I heard the fairies gossiping about some “Plan Z”, something they probably try upon the most difficult of souls, something that always works they say.

Hi, I am Mary. Nice to meet you.

Hey. You’re beautiful. Never seen you before.

Beauty is nothing but order within chaos. It’s everywhere, you just have to look around.

I cannot. In all chaos, all order and all existence, I see deep nothingness.

What about me?

What about you?

You see nothingness in me?

Of course. But, oh wait! Umph… you should exist.

Why so?

I don’t think I can answer that. Oh wait, I’m hating myself for saying this. This is what the other fairies keep telling me when I ask them for meaning. Umm….

Yes, you cannot answer that. But about that question of meaning, how about asking it from me? I’m not like the other fairies.

What is this mark below your lips?

O soul! That’s a mole.

Why is it there?

Randomly. Why?

Randomly? No. It really makes a difference. You look so beautiful with it. Mary, this randomness is beautiful. This chaos within order within chaos is appealing. Aren’t you wrong when you attribute beauty to mere order.

Hahahaa…. Wow. I’m impressed to see a soul in-the-making intellectualize like this. The fairies were right about you. You are difficult.

So have we reached the “your question is unanswerable” dead-end already?

I told you I’ll never say that.

Then quench my thirst for meaning. Hey, wait, there’s another of this mole thing a little above your lip on the other side. You’re lovely.

Aren’t fairies meant to be that? Lovely?

They are? No. Not at all. It’s only you.

Because I have moles around my lips?

No, I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m enjoying being with you.

Oh Soul! If life is like these few moments we’ve been together, is there any possibility we may stop looking for meaning.

Yes. But…

There the fairy took my hands in her warm ones and placed her lips over mine. It felt like nothing else I had felt before. It felt like something that couldn’t be put into words, just like life itself. I had immediately begun to realize the existence of concepts impossible to put in words.

Mary, you answered me. You’re the meaning of life. Yes, It’s you.

Oh Soul! Why tears?

Could I beg God for you? Could he let you travel with me to earth? I’ll do whatever he wills in exchange, I’ll stop asking for meanings anymore.

Soul, let me tell you something this bright night. Do you think we, the fairies, have answers to these questions souls like you keep bugging us with? Do you think the peace you see over our faces is real?

Oh!

Soul, today that I’ve myself found meaning, why would I let it leave me. I’ll go with you.

We will go.

Anger Control, Philosophically

There’s moral nihilism. Morality is but necessary. Necessary not for equilibrium in society. Necessary emotionally. Something should be there to tell us what we have to feel, and how we are to behave in response to actions and attitudes of others. Our biology doesn’t tell us anything there, nor does our rationality. Some sort of morality models floating around us have to be internalized to maintain a steady stream of such information. These morality models aren’t always formal, not always doctrines, not always written. These aren’t internalized consciously. Our minds pick these up all on their own, perhaps to fill up a critical gap in our ability to judge, decide, and react.

Since there’s moral nihilism, there’s no global consensus over absolute rights and wrongs. Such consensus is impossible. This is good. This can be exploited. I get angry over stuff so easily. All it takes for me to get rid of these emotions is to internalize an alternative model of morality, and hence an alternate judgment. This trick plays really well, such that I’m able to tolerate what the most tolerant of minds couldn’t. I’m not always able to do this, especially when i’m overwhelmed with emotions already. But I’m learning with time how to kick off this defense at the most optimal time possible. Perhaps you could too.