Despair or is it just Life?
In the relentless stream of content that floods our screens, I stumbled upon an unexpected concept: passive suicidal ideation. Algorithm threw it at me through the abyss of YouTube, a platform that simultaneously connects and isolates. It lingered in my mind, like an uninvited guest at the table of my thoughts. This stark phrase, once unleashed into the ether, set in motion a series of events that eventually led me to a book titled I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki by Korean author Baek Se-hee.
Curiosity sparked, and I allowed the book to boomerang its way back to me (I have seen it in bookstores time and again and wanted to grab it but it took me a while to get my hands on an English translation because I felt like the French translation would just trigger me more). Its cover, adorned with a peculiar juxtaposition of despair and sustenance (the Korean street/comfort food - tteokbokki), hinted at a narrative that mirrored the contradictions embedded in our existence. With each page turned, I found myself diving deep into the author's experiences, devouring the words as if they were morsels of understanding. In those moments, I felt heard and seen, by the author, her psychiatrist - like a whole new universe just unraveled in front of me.
There's a peculiar comfort in finding solace within the covers of a book. It's akin to meeting an old friend, one whose loyalty remains steadfast regardless of the tumultuous currents of life. In the company of written words, I discovered a sanctuary where my thoughts could unfold without judgment, a refuge that welcomed my vulnerabilities.
Life is a canvas painted with contradictions. To cite I few ideas that resonate with me from the book: to experience happiness, one must be intimate with sadness—a concept illustrated poignantly in the Pixar movie "Inside Out," where joy and sorrow intertwine in a dance of emotional complexity. It’s a comforting thought to be reminded that the human experience is a spectrum, not a fixed point - not a binary; black or white - as the author would often find herself repeatedly struggling to overcome. Yet, within this spectrum, I grapple with the paradox that to be happy, I must also acknowledge the potential for despair. It’s an inevitable part of the circle of life.
The book I followed this one by, Reasons to Live by Matt Haig (author I’ve come to love), echoed this sentiment, unraveling the threads of existence with a rawness that resonated with the essence of being human. It explored the multifaceted nature of life, navigating through the shadows that dance behind the facade of a smile. As I absorbed Haig's words, I couldn't help but recognize the echoes of my internal dialogues.
In the quiet corners of my mind, all these said, I confront the notion that the desire to die isn't always a plea for death but rather a yearning to cease to exist. It's a nuanced distinction or a plea for respite from the relentless cacophony of thoughts and emotions. Yet, paradoxically, the fear of death persists, an instinctual response even when numbed by the proximity of mortality. (Coincidentally, V mentioned in an earlier video call today that it has been said that with the rise of AI, the immortal walks among us today - story for another day.)
In this mosaic of thoughts and emotions, I find no neat conclusion, no tidy resolution. Instead, there's a passing pensive, fragments of contemplation suspended in the vast expanse of introspection. Mental health, like the narratives within the pages of a book (in this case, the books I’ve recently chosen to read), is an odyssey with no predetermined destination. It's an ongoing exploration, a navigation through the labyrinth of the mind, where each revelation is a breadcrumb leading to the next revelation.
As I reflect on these fragments of thoughts, I recall that in the quiet spaces between the lines, there lies a profound understanding despite the complexity of life.