Death is a process

The world didn't come to an abrupt halt on Dec. 21, 2012.  As far as we can tell, the rock is still spinning and circling the sun as it has been for millions of years.  But just because the world didn't grind to a complete standstill doesn't mean it isn't ending.  I've heard doctors describe death as a "process" that occurs more gradually than as this one, singular, instantaneous moment.  I sometimes feel the same about the world ending.

The news is continually chock full of horrific stories that I struggle to comprehend.  Just moments ago, I read the headline that the young woman who was the victim of a vicious gang-rape and assault in New Delhi finally succumbed to her awful injuries.  The story, in a nutshell, is that this woman was brutally gang-raped on a public bus in broad daylight and the perpetrators are just now being arrested.  The agonizing thing to have to digest is that these "men" used a metal rod of some sort to commit the rape, thereby causing extremely traumatic injuries to her intestines and other internal organs, and ultimately taking her life.

Another story described how a woman found a letter hidden inside a Halloween decoration she had bought at K-Mart.  The letter was written by a Chinese worker and stashed inside the product as a cry for help.  It is a maddening idea that in today's "civilization" people are still essentially enslaved.  All over the world, people who work at a level that only ekes above slavery suffer dangerous and cruel work environments, no due process for grievances, and earn money that amounts to far less in a month than a panhandler in this country can scrounge up in a day.  I struggle to live with the fact that I, too, contribute to this insanity by owning an iPhone, just about all my clothing, and various other items that I'm sure were not produced in this country in a respectable and dignified workplace.

In America, a school shooting recently marred the holidays as a young man who undoubtedly had a slew of mental health issues and/or cognitive processing issues forced his way into an elementary school and took far too many lives.  The debate about guns in this country raged on as too many people still fail to recognize that mental health issues simmer below the surface, just waiting to finally boil over and bring pain to innocents everywhere.  Guns being readily available contribute to the problem, but only a sliver of what the lack of proper mental health care contributes.  Millions of people all over the world suffer a multitude of mental health issues that most other people simply want to ignore.  The mind is a vast and complex mystery that we can't always easily grasp, but it's also very powerful and there are very real circumstances that people suffer through due to their minds.  This dangerous breakdown of mental wellness in a widespread way is most certainly one of the key reasons it seems we see our world in a perpetual down slide.

Oddly enough, I finished reading THE BELL JAR yesterday.  Though I still feel very much in control of my life and my mental faculties, I can certainly understand Sylvia Plath's struggle with her mental health.  A person can be among others in the wider world but feel as though he or she resides inside of a bell jar, where the feelings and states of mind that grip the person continually enshroud him or her despite the rest of the world's mood.  This jar is an interesting symbol of being able to see everything around you, to take it all in, and to be seen by others, to know that others seem to be carrying on as though nothing is wrong, while the person in the bell jar simply cannot shake what's inside the bell jar:  feeling of unraveling and desperation that others don't understand.  Sylvia Plath has an amazing gift of solidifying the intangible, both in her poetry and prose.  Equating the unshakable mental instability one can feel to being enclosed in a bell jar is just one example of those gifts.

This is not to say I feel as though I'm on the verge of a breakdown, so don't get worried.  What I can do, though, is empathize with people who fall so deeply into despair that they have no idea how to escape it.  I have more empathy for people who may turn to substance abuse to escape every day from the world around them, a world they can no longer understand or cope with.  I get why people indulge in many forms of escape - gaming, shopping, TV, eating, whatever.  Sometimes this world creates in me a sense of survivor's guilt for everything that happens.  The people dying at Sandy Hook created the feeling of survivor's guilt.  9/11, Columbine, the girl in New Delhi, the many nameless children all over the Third World dying under the radar of malnutrition and/or disease, all the victims of Sandy and Katrina and the countless tornadoes that march across the land and the tsunamis...  I am barely scratching the surface here (I don't have the time to elaborate on everything that torments me).  Sometimes I carry this tremendous burden in my heart and soul, and those catastrophic situations can press hard against the fragile barrier that keeps one's sanity intact.

Still, I choose not to ignore that these tragic things are happening in the world.  I definitely don't live my life in constant pain, mind you, but I'm also not going to find unhealthy methods to permanently escape from reality or to indefinitely numb all the pain I do feel.  Experiencing feelings are a sublimation of sorts, and this experience reminds us that we are indeed alive.  As I've gotten older, I've tried harder to make sure I choose to keep my attention turned toward as many positive things as I can.  I cannot dwell on the negatives or my quality of life will diminish to nil.  I also refuse to allow the crushing morbidity of the world to provide an excuse for me to be weak and give in to easier routes for coping.  Pain is not comfortable or fun, clearly, but it is a reminder that we are living.  On the flip side of the tragedies that bruise my heart is the human will and spirit that shines through; thus, these are the positives I choose to focus on that I spoke of a few sentences ago.

My lone little personal journey is a singular life amongst the billions, and it is by no means any more or less significant than those other lives.  I choose to share it not because I think it does matter any more or less but because there may be others who need a touchstone, a connection to another who has "been there, done that" and understands that person's circumstance.  While I shoulder my survivor's guilt, since I'm a person who does have a heart and soul, after all, I try to keep my own life and path in perspective.  Talking about my transition and all that it entails is never about trying to find some unique way to set myself apart, or to insinuate that it's the most unique thing a person have ever been through.  It's to educate and help and connect others.  Just know that when I write about my journey, this is the place from which it stems.

The world didn't cease to exist on Dec. 21, 2012 in the way we might think about when we think of the world ending.  There was no globe-encompassing hell-fire to swallow the earth in the flames of Satan.  We have no zombies ambling about while a few members of the species remain behind to try to live on in the aftermath.  However, it still feels like the world is dying.  All around us, we have to live with the fact that human beings the world over are actually incomplete; people everywhere lack basic things we believe one needs to qualify as human - compassion, understanding, empathy, and the ability to care about others as they care for themselves.  Some don't even care for themselves, which explains why they certainly can't feel that for anyone else.  My journey, akin to a grain of sand on the beach or one drop in the ocean, can hopefully still build bridges to the humanity of others.  It's all I can do to try to make my little difference in the world and cope with my own remorse felt while watching the evils of the human race continue.  It keeps me strong and helps me keep the bell jar off of me.  Perhaps this is all we can do as individuals - I can't solve world hunger or prevent animal cruelty or make people love their children more, but I can try to keep the light of being alive and of feeling burning strongly.  I will keep trying to make human connections, and if the world is indeed in the process of dying, I simply want to make sure that all of the beautiful things that make us a remarkable race of beings don't die, too.