Untitled

—Lauren Berlant, intro to Anne Dufourmantelle’s Power of Gentleness: Meditations on the Risk of Living

“I liked Hell, I liked to go there alone relieved to lie in the wreckage, ruined, physically undone.”

—Marie Howe, Magdalene: The Addict

“Is it possible to say ‘no’? A cut and dry ‘no’ that is inconvertible to a ‘yes’? […] Is there a way for life to say no to itself? No to continuity; no to the resistance of memory or childhood; no to beautiful form; no to sensible metamorphosis; no to gradual decline; no to the progress of the negative itself. These questions can be summed up in a single question: is there a mode of possibility attached exclusively to negation?”

There are different forms of self-preservation but all of them boil down to psychologicalsafety. A feeling that all is well and that we are not at risk of experiencing danger or pain is so important to us! Physical pain causes emotional turmoil making it a double-edged threat. Although it is worth noting that pain tolerance can differ from person to person. It is fundamental that we are able to view ourselves as not only being safe but also as being good and moral people. Our self-image is either reinfoced or threatened by our actions and choices which determine how we feel about ourselves, depending on our individual values. So how do we survive when we do things that directly go against our own ideals and beliefs? How do we reconcile the contradiction that separates how we feel from what we actually do? 

I remember hearing about a phenomenon called “Moral Injury” sometime ago in a Youtube video, in which American soldiers suffering from PTSD partially were afflicted by memories of the atrocities they had committed overseas. Supposedly, moral injury occurs when one must contend with the acknowledgment that they were responsible for behaving immorally, in a way which they are greatly ashamed of their conduct and so subconciously bury their actions so that they do not remember. Essentially, these moral violations become repressed memories. Few more than an addict or a soldier know this pain of confronting the memories of their own personal failures. Thoughts of “How could I have done something so awful?”, “Will this ever catch up with me in the future?”, “What made me think that was ever okay?” and other such things. For some of us addicts, we only wish we could repress what we remember but the hope for a better tomorrow carries us forward. You might think a set of twelve steps would properly sort out the issue, but even those of us with a spiritual experience (as it is with taxes) are not exempt from feelings of regret and depression, even with a “Spiritual Experience” as described within the first 164 pages of the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous. 

This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

I once knew a young man named DJ whom a handful of months after I met him had been murdered by a woman named Jesse. Jesse was at large only for a few weeks before being apprehended by authorities and then arrested. I hadn’t known DJ very well, but we had had some short interactions over social media before he was killed over some drugs and stolen jewelry. DJ himself was only twenty years old while the woman was just 19. She received substantial time for putting a number of bullets through his chest and will not be eligible for parole for a number of decades. Essentially, she will be in her late sixties to early seventies before she even has a chance at getting her freedom back. I myself was right around their age when this occurred and now as a thirty-two year old man, I imagine what it must be like to lose my life at twenty as a young man and then what it must be like to spend decades in prison for something I wished I could take back. Two young lives gone. Both tragedies, but only one self-inflicted. Over what? Greed? A heroine headrush? Chasing temporary pleasures at risk of one’s own life. 

I try to imagine the self-reflection that must be taking place for Jesse right now, realizing that all of her potential has been reduced to what is a lifelong prison sentence. What could have been no longer matters. Sober tears for high crimes. Not all of us make it out alive. Those initial nights in a cell must have been intense, knowing my life as I once knew it was coming to an end. At some point however, we must all carry on whether we are haunted by consequences that will never go away or a conscience that will never stop aching. We must find a way to still see ourselves as good people, which requires us to be strong enough to not put our self-esteem in anyone else’s hands which is a very difficult thing to do when we are social creatures who need each other. As long as there is a spark of a desire to change in another person, it should always be nutured whether we like them or not!

It does not matter if you think I do not care about the topic you are explaining to me. It does not matter if you think I am bored by you. It does not matter if you think I don't care about anything you say, even if you talk nonsense, or Christianity, or a crush you had for a week, or what you had for lunch, or this new philosophical reflection that has been troubling your mind for months.

None of that matters, because it is not true. I want to hear your words, I want to hear your thoughts and questions. You are very dear to me, and I care for whatever troubles you, even if you think it is very stupid. It is not, I am sure.

Reach out to me when you are scared, when you are happy, when you are bored, when you are sad, when you feel too much, too little, or nothing at all. I want to hear you.

It does not matter if I care about the topic. If you care about it, I care because you do. If it makes you think, I care. If it makes you feel, I care. If you need to talk, then I need to talk, too.

Talk, my dear, because I will hear you.