Fifteenth proof of my existence: On Death

We're discussing Heidegger, still, and he's touching on the nature of death in terms of Da-sein; as a contrast to yesterday, I'm not having that much trouble understanding what he's talking about; being-towards-death is a concept that I very much understand, at a very primal, intuitive level. I'd go so far as to claim an authentic view of it, even.

I've almost died at least 5 separate times now, to memory, throughout my life. I mean, those experiences have shaped my view of life, as a person, that it is extremely difficult for me to pull them out of focus. I've been obsessed with death in a nearly tangible way since I was around one and two years old, being constantly reminded of how imminent and transient our death and lives can be.

My first experience is not one that I remember clearly. I've heard stories, I've had nightmares, and I've got a sense of understanding of it, but I do not remember anything other than the cold that came with it. See, my parents were moving from Washington state to Arizona, and we drove down the coast to get here- I was, from the stories, not quite two years old.

When we started going through Nevada, I began to develop a fever and it spiked around 104°F, and my parents brought me to the hospital; but they couldn't stop my fever from climbing, and they had to put me in an ice bath to break my fever. So I don't really remember it, consciously, but I've been haunted by dreams of that experience for nearly all of my life.

My second experience was about five to six years later. I grew up asthmatic, using my albuterol inhaler at school, and my albuterol breathing machine when I was at home, but sometimes I forgot about it, or I didn't really think I needed it at the time. Unfortunately, I did need it, with a relatively high frequency, assuming I was fond of breathing. 

Anyways, I skipped a night one time after a heavy day of running around, and I woke up quite suddenly in the middle of the night, completely unable to breath, save for a rapidly eclipsing second of the sharp and raspy breath so common in asthmatics.

I was terrified. My body was resisting me, forcing me to struggle to stay awake, and I did the only thing I could think of doing- I made as much noise as I possibly could, waking my brother and my mother up. I vaguely remember my mother running to my room and starting to yell at me for rousing her, and then she ran over to me, saw how little I was breathing, and called an ambulance. Apparently, I turned blue on way there, and the paramedics got there just in time to hook me up to oxygen.

The crazy part was waking up in a hospital. I mean, I had absolutely no idea where I was, there were needles in me and there was beeping and it was dark and scary and there was nobody around. I tore out the needles and a nurse came running, and woke my mother up to calm me. Needless to say, I felt very mortal after that, and developed a rather intense bout of insomnia that has been recurrent since that experience.

My third experience my first serious miscalculation of an inebriant. I was 12 years old, and I had found my mother's oxycontin and taken some, intending to see what exactly I was missing. I overdosed, and spent a good 5 hours recalling the exact same terror that I felt when I had my asthma attack- I couldn't breathe, but since it was an opiate, I also couldn't move. So I waited. And did my best to continue breathing. Obviously I was successful, but that was probably more fear inducing than any of my earlier experiences. The combination of not being able to breathe while simultaneously not being able to move is a fear that I would not wish on many people.

My fourth experience was fast, happening in an instant and being complete within the second. It was April 1st, 2003, and I was riding my bike on the wrong side of the road and a driver of an SUV was turning right onto Southern Ave, but never looked that way since they were watching for traffic. I remember being totally nonplussed and riding right in front, and in the very next second, I remember reeling away into first lane of traffic lying on my back. The moment I notice that I'm looking at the sky, there's a split second of roar and a semi is driving inches away from my skull. I don't remember moving, but I somehow got up and wandered off to the side of the road, and the driver ended up dropping me off back at my house; but I never got their information.

My fifth time crossing paths with death is still somewhat fresh in my memory. It was about 3 years ago, and it was another overdose. I'd really rather not talk about that one, though.

I can't speak for anybody other than myself, but these all had a profound effect on my demeanor. Every single time, I was not the same person afterwards, and I slowly fell back into my patterns of living day to day, but I can always feel this sort of residue from my life, feeling like there's something keeping me alive.

For better or worse, it changes my perspective on life when I take the time to remember that I've survived through all of that. I accept that death isn't something that I can expect, for the most part. I accept that my friends have passed, I accept that my mother has passed, I accept that we're all gonna die someday. There really isn't that much we can do about it, yet.

I've been thinking about it, though, and I still don't think that I really live in the being-toward-death state of mind. Like, I appreciate my existence, but I'm still trying to face my existence with death in the they; that is, I'm still anxious and terrified of it, and I think that I mitigate the fear of dying (more clearly, the fear of dying before I've left a legacy) by just zoning out and trying to avoid thinking about anything at all. At the same time, occasionally I'll have a sudden memory and it's like a fire is lit underneath me and I'll struggle and spin and make real progress towards my goals. And I've known people to die, and I've felt the death of my mother first hand, emotionally, but at the same time, even with my brushing up next to death, I still can't really synthesize the feeling. I said in class that it's like a sticker and you can feel the residue of almost dying, but lately it's like I'm just trying to wash the residue off.

That's one of the biggest benefits of taking this class, really. I'm starting to realize that life isn't necessarily a moment by moment grasp of happenings, not really a matter of subject and object and emotion here or whatever, and I am starting to believe that the concept of living in the "now" is flawed, too. I mean, we're constantly living on the edge of Time's razor blade. "Now" is just a split second between the past and future, and if we don't simultaneously live in all three, with our foundation in the past, our sights set in our future for our goals, and our wits about us ready to pull the trigger, there's really no point to going on. I've gone through each of those separately, to some extent, and without the others, I don't really think it's fruitful. Live in the past, and one ignores the future, only to hang on to the shards of reminiscence with depression; live in the future, and it's like watching the carrot as you race down the track, only to worry about you'll ever get it. But I think that with all three, it's more than possible to achieve something that's inherently valuable. I guess that's my understanding of it, at least.

I guess I can't really say that I understand the former view, of not having a sense of death, so I can't really compare it to "before", but I can say that when I keep my experiences closer to me, I live with more conviction, and attempt to refute my predisposition towards almost dying. It's taking some work and serious self reflection, but sooner or later, I'll be able to look myself in the mirror and actually see myself eye to eye. If nothing else, I've lived through too damn much to just shit on myself and lock up in my room, slowly rotting into a pile of self depreciation. I deserve to at least try to smile, if not for the memory of those that died before me, at least to make the terrible times worth living through. But it's not enough to just dream of the future, any more. It's not enough to hope and watch things go by.

I've got to actually speak up and try to grab them.

Fourteenth proof of my existence: On Heidegger and Obfuscation

I tried to read the excerpts from Being and Time. I really, really did. I sat down, I opened the book, and I died, slowly, bit by bit. Being-in-the-world? What is that? I understand the need for a different set of words to describe these concepts, and I appreciate the specificity that this approach gives it, but frankly, I feel like the nature of the wording is completely obtuse and difficult to understand. I can't tell how many times I got lost, wondering which "being" I was reading about, just completely confused as to what form of Da-sein was being discussed.

I really want to understand what he's talking about- when we watched the Solomon lectures, it began to make sense, but... I'm just not holding onto the material. I think it will make more sense after I reread it again. More than anything else, I think this boils down a lack of focus on it. Perhaps I should read it bit by bit, a little more slowly.

Thirteenth Proof of my existence: On Unamuno and the tragic sense of life

In my mind, the tragic sense of life boils down to the appreciation of the conflict between the desire to act and the actuality of inaction; the goal is eternal happiness, through virtue and personal ethics, and the path there is the belief that it is attainable in its own right, rather than through prescribed dogma.

That is to say, being a lucid, conscious human being is to feel that internal dissonance of knowing that one needs to act, of the thoughts regarding possible action, and the inaction before or after the act itself; in following our personal beliefs and acting upon them rather than getting lost within our thoughts on them, we strive as individuals to attain our eternal happiness- but for it to be "real", in a sense, we have to act upon what our core beliefs are, rather than the core tenets of dogmatic faith, so that our view of eternal happiness is integrally our own.

To make a comparison, looking at the Myth of Sisyphus, in order for him to be happy, he must push the rock of his own belief that this is the proper course of action.

Aside from that, I feel that Unamuno was essentially bringing light to a psychological cognitive bias- the confirmation bias, which is a tendency of people to favor information that confirms their beliefs or hypotheses. However, I feel he is discussing it in an individual sense, in so far as when we act on thought rather than belief, we give reason to our action after the fact, giving us reason to belief a certain way. So personally, I feel that he's arguing that for us to really seize the Kierkegaardian ideal, we have to essentially overcome this bias. Anyways, those are my thoughts on it, at the very least.

Twelfth proof of my existence: On Dostoevsky's 'Notes from the Underground'

When I was younger, I based my entire existence on the premise that the world was inherently unjust, and that as a moral agent, it was my moral responsibility, that is to say obligation, to rebel against this system. I did not act out of self interest, rather I acted out of spite, reminiscing over how unfree I was, save my thoughts and actions.

In that past, I would say that I agree with the Underground man in almost every sense. Were my liver to have gone bad, I feel that I would not have taken care of it, simply to hold power over my circumstance. I would suffer, but I would suffer with the knowledge that I was asserting my thoughts upon my world. It would suck, physically, but I could think of no greater cause for self determination.

Now? I'm not so certain that this would be my choice. I would certainly suggest a more moderate view of sorts, so far as asserting our ability to choose a non-good is an integral piece of free will; however, I also feel that it is our goal- as opposed to obligation- as individuals to care for ourselves and more often than not act in self interest. So while I would certainly act of spite on occasion, often out of emotional distress, I would sooner act in the interest of myself and those ideals that I hold as important. This way, I feel, is both more rational and also irrational; I do not feel that the ideals showed in Dostoevsky's notes are mutually exclusive, because I believe that it's possible to live by personal choice as well as by the greatest self interest.

Why is it that he claims that acting out of self injury is the greatest advantage? This confused me- I understand that it's the crux of free will, in his argument, but to call that an advantage? I'm defining advantage as "A condition or circumstance that puts one in a favorable or superior position."; by this definition, I cannot see how self injury can possibly be beneficial. I mean, there's certainly a personal sense of control, I suppose, but beyond that I'm lost.

Sometimes, though, spite is the best choice we have- especially in the face of injustice.