Poison

The wells that supply emotions cannot be depleted, but they can be poisoned. The waters can be blackened and fouled so that they yield only anger and hate and despair. Those that drink these waters are similarly tainted. Their insides turn hideous, yet they retain their human form. They walk among others, some staying silent, some wreaking violence. The most tormented however, point their knives inward. They cut themselves down in an attempt to spare the world from their own misery. They sever all ties with people, because it already hurts so much that to burden another person would be unbearable. They isolate themselves not out of hate, but because they care. “It ends with me,” they tell themselves. “I will not destroy others to save myself.” As if such salvation is even possible. Intuition reveals that there is no chance for escape. They know this, so they hide themselves behind superficial friendliness, all the while keeping a careful distance. They are alone out of fear, out of guilt, and out of duty.  

At least, I think there is a “they.” I cannot imagine that I am the only one who feels the obligation to close myself off from others so as not to spread the contagion of misery that sickens me. But perhaps I am mistaken. When I am in public, I search peoples’ faces, hoping to see my own reflection. The eyes can reveal an inner hurt and the self-toxicity that courses through the mind. But I have yet to find another like me, and I am becoming more certain that there is no one of similitude. In a way this a relief; at least no one else is as miserable as I am. On the other hand, it is disheartening to realize how alone I truly am, because until I find another person who already possesses the same internal strife that plagues me, I cannot be close to anyone.

This is not that surprising, and I have been preparing to spend the rest of my life alone since I gave up on ever having a meaningful relationship. That was over 12 years ago, when in a moment of temporary forgetfulness, I thought that perhaps I found someone that could tolerate me. I was mistaken. No one so different could truly accept or understand me.

Yet the need for companionship is genetically built into human behavior, so I hold on to the remote possibility of finding a match. Admittedly, I don’t try very hard, relying more on a chance encounter than a more proactive approach. But what can one expect from someone who honestly believes that he is poisonous to others’ well being and happiness? I am already aware what I have done to my family. My despondency and hopelessness have worried them all and caused them pain beyond what any of them deserve. Of course my anguished writing only worsens matters. Never the less, as a means of coping, I spread my problems very thinly across the entirety the world. Ultimately, it is to little avail, but I suppose that self-expression is another intrinsic tendency that all people share. Even the poisoned ones.

"A Tout le Monde."

People often think of failure as something that occurs quite suddenly, like a bridge collapsing or dam bursting. Many times however, failure occurs gradually; it takes the form of a slow erasure of past success and a slide into decay. I find myself helpless as I plummet towards a future of total loss. There are no brakes. There is no way back. 

Everything I have accomplished has been an inordinate struggle. While others look at what I have done and tell me that anyone would have found it difficult, I can only shake my head and laugh sardonically. Academics were easy. My time in graduate school was an intellectual joke. It was not that the science that was hard to understand or that the experiments were all that complicated. What made things so arduous was that I had to fight myself every single minute of every single day, although in reality, it was more like a chase than a battle. I ran after my ambition as it vanished in the distance. I tried to catch up to my sense of purpose while it slipped from my grasp. I was a like a battery, the kind you throw away, slowly running out of power. 

Now I feel that I am spent. I have nothing left to give, and all of my potential has dissipated in the grey haze of depression. It hurts me beyond my ability to describe, knowing that I could have done so much more. And while I write in the past tense as if my life is over, unfortunately, I fear that I have many years ahead of me. It will be time spent in hell, everyday my self-loathing increasing as I despair over the loss of things that never were. This is what I have to look forward to, a life of invisible disability, my own mind crushing the life out of me. 

I have tried. Believe me, I have tried. I have gone to psychologists and psychiatrists. I am on multiple drugs. All of this has merely curbed the desire to physically harm myself, but that was never the issue anyway. In a bizarre contradiction of desires, I fight to live more than I will to die. Death is the ultimate failure, and it is one that I vow not to willingly succumb to. So I am left to suffer as my life implodes upon itself. No one should feel the least bit of pity for me. What I endure is not an excusable disease. My mind has failed me, which is to say that I have failed myself. While bipolar disorder is certainly real, whether it be a poorly understood imbalance of neurotransmitters or faulty synaptic connections between neurons, the disorder emerges in my conscious thoughts. I should be able to control it. I should be able to rationalize it away. I should be able to will myself back to a past self that could function in the day to day. But I can’t, and this is my failure. When a runner comes in second place in a race even after giving his all, there is one incontrovertible fact; his best wasn’t good enough. Neither is mine.

The Cost of Fear

In the whirlwind of events that followed the tragedy in Boston, the United States abandoned the principles it was founded on. We, as a people, gave up our liberty in pursuit of the suspected bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. Albeit it was a momentary forfeiture of our freedom that was confined to the city of Boston and its surrounding area, but it revealed just how willing we are to allow fear to take over our lives.

After 19 year old Dzhokhar and his 26 year old brother Tamerlan were identified as suspects in the Boston Marathon bombing, it was understandable that a forceful response would be implemented in trying to apprehend them. If guilty, they are the culprits of a cowardly terrorist act that took the lives of three and injured nearly 200 others. And in fairness the manhunt was rightfully intensified after the two brothers were involved in the killing of an MIT police officer. A shootout with the police left the older brother dead and wounded Dzhokhar went on the run. At this point things began to spiral out of control, and a major metropolitan area was brought to a standstill by a single, injured teenager.

Millions of innocent citizens were “asked” to remain indoors and it was requested that businesses remain closed while the authorities scoured the city. But is it really a suggestive question when the people doing the asking are heavily armed police officers? Under the guise of being in “hot pursuit” of the suspect, police trampled peoples’ private property, conducting door to door searches, and in some cases pulling people out of their homes. It is somewhat dubious that this emergency pursuit rose to a level that it could supplant the the Fourth Amendment’s protection against unreasonable searches. There is a legally recognized exemption to the Fourth Amendment called “exigent circumstance,” but probable cause is still necessary for a search of private property to take place.

Ostensibly, the police could argue that they had sufficient reason to invade people’s privacy and that they were acting in the public’s best interest. It should also be noted that no one seems to have objected to this authoritarianism, but that does not excuse such sweeping action. Panic and fear were sown by the authorities in order to obtain the acquiescence of the people.

In the end, Dzhokhar was apprehended due to the diligence of a citizen and only after the stay-indoor-restrictions were lifted. Venturing outside, David Henneberry noticed blood on the tarp that was covering his boat. He peeked inside, saw what looked like a curled-up body in a pool of blood, and called 911. Although Dzhokhar initially responded to the arrival of the police by shooting at them, he eventually gave himself up and was then taken to the hospital for his injuries. From the SWAT teams carrying assault rifles, to the roaming bands of police, to the strategically placed sharpshooters, all of them proved ineffective to the task of capturing one person.  

Yet the people applaud this show of force, and officials give patently false statements like “Americans refuse to be terrorized.” Is there not terror when one of the largest cities in the country comes seemingly under siege? Even more chilling are these words from President Obama. “If anyone wants to know who we are; what America is; how we respond to evil and terror – that’s it.” It was essentially an announcement to the world that if violence is committed against the U.S. we will shelve our principles of liberty and freedom and cower under the bootsteps of authority.

America is not some authoritarian state, and to witness military style vehicles rolling down the streets of Boston was disgraceful. No one should cheer this sort of de facto martial law, regardless of how safe it makes us feel. Benjamin Franklin put it best when he wrote, “They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.”

A Truly Divided Government

Recent events have given us a study in contrast between governmental abuse of power and governmental dereliction of duty. 

The suppression of Constitutional Rights by the authorities in Boston represents government overreach at its worst. Beginning with the “stay-in-door” restrictions that were imposed upon millions of residents to the failure to read the bombing suspect his Miranda rights, multiple organizations have shown their willingness to trample on the principles this country was founded on whenever it suits them. Now there is even talk of holding Dzhokhar Tsarnaev as an “enemy combatant,” which could result in his imprisonment for years without trial. However grievous his crime, this teenager is still a U.S. citizen and is entitled to the same due process as any other American. While this government power grab is troubling it is more frightening that the public is so willing to accept it. To acquiesce to authoritarianism is to surrender not just Dzhokhar’s rights but everyone’s rights as well. If the government is not challenged on this issue then the next time an act of terrorism occurs we may find ourselves in a foreign land of militarism and martial law. 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, the explosion of the fertilizer plant in the town of West, Texas reveals what happens when the government neglects its responsibility to ensure to the safety of the people. I will come back to how the situation in Boston was an assurance of public safety in name only, but now the issue is how the lack of government oversight led to the deaths of 14 people and injuries of nearly 200 others. The fertilizer plant that violently shattered a small town was a ticking time bomb that failed to report to the Department of Homeland Security that it held approximately 270 tons of ammonium nitrate. Over half a million pounds of the same explosive substance that was used in the Oklahoma City bombing, yet the DHS was completely unaware of the situation. At the same time, the EPA was notified that the plant was storing ammonium nitrate when the company filed a risk management plan. This interdepartmental communication breakdown is inexcusable, but even more galling is the fact that the company’s risk management plan blatantly whitewashed the danger it posed to the surrounding area. They reported that the worst case scenario would have been a short term leak of ammonia gas that would not pose a serious health risk to anyone. In addition, they incredulously stated that there was no risk of fire or explosion at the plant. 

Texas state agencies were similarly deficient. State environmental regulators found no reason for concern after several inspections of the plant between 2002 and 2007. Nevermind the fact that the company was operating without the required air permit; the sheer amount of anhydrous ammonia and ammonium nitrate being stored in a single location should have triggered multiple alarm bells. Furthermore, the plant was built in 1962, so why were residential areas allowed to crop up so close to such a dangerous facility? One reason is that Texas has no statewide zoning laws, instead leaving such building restrictions up to local government bodies. But if local governments are unaware of any potential danger due to the failure of state and federal agencies to do their job, why would they feel the need to prohibit the building of apartments, schools, and nursing homes within the blast radius of a fertilizer plant? 

It is likely that the tragedy in West will lead to at least some policy changes and increased safety measures surrounding chemical manufacturing and storage, but it unfortunate that it took such a terrible event to do so. The people’s rights to life and liberty demand that the government act to protect them from industries that have grown accustomed to little government oversight. 

This leads back to the actions of the police and FBI in Boston. Under the guise of “ensuring public safety,” they temporarily robbed the people of their freedom. To most this was simply an inconvenience, but it was also a time of great fear. Law enforcement officials created an atmosphere of terror that allowed them to impose upon the people without the worry of facing any public opposition. A scared populace had no objections as a city was brought to its knees by a single, injured teenager. The government continued with its ruse as it prattled on about how resilient and tough the people of Boston are. But the public was nothing of the sort because they simply cowered in their homes instead of asking why the agencies meant to protect them were now preying on their fears. Again, what will happen next time? What will we allow the government to take from us when a lone madman or group of terrorists commits the next atrocity? When martial law is declared, how long will we accept it? 

What parts of the Constitution are we willing to throw away simply because the government intimidates us into submission?

Waiting.

Currently, I am in transition out of a rather severely depressed mental state to a less despondent mode of operation. During this time period, I find it difficult to do very much of anything, and what I can do doesn't seem to be done very well. It has taken me nearly twenty minutes to write even this much, and every word seems to hit the page like a stone. Usually, I am able to write with a fair amount of ease, but now it is a slow, plodding process. To worsen matters, I am dissatisfied with everything I write, so much so that I am tempted to erase this post as I have done with several others. Yet I feel obligated to at least offer an explanation for the sudden dearth of new stories and other works, so I will post this piece despite its shortcomings.

It may seem strange that I find these periods of transition nearly as intolerable as my darkest depressive episodes. Utter despair and hopelessness are not exactly enjoyable, but at least they offer me a source of creativity. From the shadows I can pull some of my best work, and because writing serves as an outlet, the dark times have become more bearable. On the opposite side of depression, I have periods where I am clear headed and capable of thinking critically. During these times, I can formulate more intricate plot lines, and, while these stories are typically less emotive than my depressed writings, they are longer and more involving of the reader. In between these two states however is a sort of creativity desert. I am neither pulled by dark thoughts nor pushed by rational analysis. There is simply no motive, and hence my words become immobile. This is what I hate, this lack of ability that confines me on all sides.

Adding to this frustration is the ambiguity of the change’s direction; my moments of transition do not always proceed in a progressive fashion. Sometimes instead of entering a more “normal” state, I will swing back into a depressive episode. In those instances the transition was nothing more than an interlude. Timing is also another disagreeable factor. I can never tell how long a transitional period will last, or for that matter, how long either of my dominant emotional states will persist. All I can do is endure each stage as it happens and recognize the arrival of a new one. It is certain that the transitional period is the shortest duration of my three stages, but it can vary between a few days to more than a week. This current instance seems to be relatively more persistent than most, which leads me to suspect that I am approaching its endpoint. Of course, I do not know on which side I will find myself, but in either case my writing should become more consistent.

So bear with me as I bear with myself. I have so many stories hiding away, and in short time I will begin revealing them once again. Either fast or slow, time is a burdensome companion that listens to no one and gives orders to everyone.

Attention to Over-diagnosis: A.D.H.D. and the mislabeling of childhood.

If one believes recently released estimates, millions of school-age children are affected by a diagnosable mental disorder that impairs their ability to learn and even function in daily life. But if one sees through the recent trend to medicalize everything, this same group of children is simply behaving normally. What twenty years ago would have been passed off as kids being kids is now labeled as attention deficit hyperactivity disorder or A.D.H.D. As the NY Times reported (link to article), nearly 1 in 5 high-school age boys has been diagnosed with A.D.H.D. and nearly 1 in 10 are being medicated for the condition. In the past decade alone there has been a 53% increase in A.D.H.D. among school-age children in general. Either kids are rapidly losing their ability to function, or the medical establishment is recklessly pathologizing normal behavior as deviant. Contributing to this overdiagnosis are parents and teachers who find it easier to pump kids full of medication rather than address behavioral issues directly. Increasingly, children themselves are to blame. As the pressure to excel academically increases, high school and college students have become desperate for anything that can offer them an advantage. They are well aware that medications used in the treatment of A.D.H.D. can increase focus and mental stamina, and students will sometimes fake symptoms in order to obtain them. The ever increasing numbers of kids diagnosed with A.D.H.D. is not an indication of a worrisome epidemic. Instead, it is an indication of society’s desire for quick fixes and easy excuses. Certainly there are some children who are genuinely impaired by A.D.H.D. For them proper medical care can make the difference between making decent grades and failing out of school completely.

Arguably however, the majority of children diagnosed with this condition do not need medication. While they do have an attention deficit, it is a deficit of attention to the children from adults. Parents and teachers can remedy what is viewed as problematic behavior by addressing children individually. But this takes actual time and effort, and with short-cuts made available by all to willing doctors, medication becomes an enticing alternative.

However freely available these medications become, the fact remains that they are powerful psychostimulants with the potential to cause real harm. Adderall is one of the most common drugs prescribed for A.D.H.D., and it is essence nothing but brand name amphetamine. There have been numerous reports of Adderall induced psychosis, and symptoms of addiction often manifest in children trying to taper off usage of the drug. Adderall dependency can develop, and children who begin on a low dose may need to continually increase the amount taken in order to simply function. Other drug choices have similar profiles. Even non-stimulant medications such as Atomoxetine pose a danger. In a 2009 drug safety report, the British Medicines and Healthcare Products Regulatory Agency found that "Atomoxetine is associated with treatment-emergent psychotic or manic symptoms in children and adolescents without a history of such disorders." By treating an illusory disease, doctors may be inducing genuine mental disorders.

America has a predilection towards reclassifying normality as disordered. This tendency is driven by the pharmaceutical industry that is all too eager to market its latest cure for some manufacture disease. It is further abetted by adults who prefer automatons over children and lack the patience of inclination to deal with kids directly. Again, A.D.H.D. is a legitimate disability, but it has become the diagnosis dejur, recklessly given to far too many children. The term A.D.H.D. is simply a greenlight to medicate the masses at an early age, get them hooked into the medical-pharmaceutical complex, and perpetuate legalized drug dependency. Perhaps if adults were more attentive to these facts, they would again recognise that the behavior of most children isn’t all that much of a problem. Besides, there is already a cure for short attention spans and hyperactivity among kids; it’s called growing up.