The Other World

The funeral will be held next Thursday. My mother arranged them quickly enough, as if she was burying the shame along with my father. She has always kept saying how suicide is so very selfish; I doubt the latest events have changed her opinion that much.

I'm doing great, a bit too great considering that my father just died (we still don't know the exact time of death, we have to wait for the autopsy results; my life resembles a C.S.I. episode...).

"De mortis nihil nisi bene"... sorry, Kheilon, but I disagree. Just because someone is dead doesn't mean the living have to start glorifying them. If they were assholes when they were alive, being dead doesn't change that in any way. Actually, I feel rather relieved (as do many others, as I've found out lately). I don't feel the least guilty or responsible for his decision. Nor do I judge it, either; suicide is "prepared within the silence of the heart, as is a great work of art" (Albert Camus). And how could I judge it since I once seriously wanted to die myself? I planned my suicide thoroughly but never carried it out; instead I settled on hurting myself otherwise. I think I still have that suicide paper somewhere; my suicide methodology hasn't changed at all over the past seven years, although I still don't know where to get cyanide. My suicide would have been partly due to my parents, partly due to my school conditions (I think my schoolmates would have lovingly referred to me as "freak" or "loser" or "jerk weed"). Therefore I assume that my father's motives also included some of our family life, and possibly that of his own when he was a child. I just don't feel guilty because I know that my part is just one small particle of all the things that made him decide to end his life, that changing my part wouldn't have changed this outcome.

I know someone would undoubtedly consider the following the worst possible thing to say, but I think that his suicide was best for all in one way or another. This takes away the worry we all felt all the time, of his well-being as well as that of ourselves. As I said before, I feel relieved: now I don’t have to worry about the immediate effects of the alcoholism to my mother, and especially to my brother since now the reason he tried to kill himself is gone. But most importantly, this was the solution for my father; I suppose he really didn't see any way out of the situation he was in, or maybe he didn't even want to get out of. Maybe the way would have meant conquering so many difficult obstacles that he didn't consider it worth the trouble.

In any case, this is what he wanted to do, and so he did. In a way I'm happy for him; he was pressured to do something else with his life than, I assume, he would have wanted. His whole life there was always someone telling him what to do: his parents and rest of the family, then my mother... Even if it meant this, it's good that he got to do at least one thing completely on his own, decide for himself. The rest of us have to accept it, even if we didn't understand it completely.

I just finished re-reading (for X times now) the novel "Loppuunkäsitelty" by Anna-Leena Härkönen. It tells about her own experiences after the year following her sister's suicide. I've liked the book since I first read it two years ago; now I find much consolation in it, and understanding. I find someone who has thought of the same things and asked the same questions I have, only contemplating them from a different point of view and mental (as well as ideological) background than me. I also have Antonella Gambotto's "The Eclipse" (it's one my to-be-read list next), and currently I'm reading Simone de Beavoir's "Les Belles Images". That one is very nicely written; it took me ten pages to realise that both the third person and the first person narrators are one and the same person, Laurence. And besides... it's de Beauvoir.

Which reminds me... do I get a day off from work but also get paid due to a fneral of a close relative?

- - -

I finally got my hands on 'Hadal'. It is as good as I thought it would be. For some reason the change Velcra has gone through for this album isn't anywhere near the shock Sonata Arctica's transformation caused. My current number one is –without a doubt– 'White Knuckle Mountains'. Other good pieces are the first single 'Quick and Dirty' ("Never too rich. Never too thin. Never too young. Never ever perfect"), 'New Recruit' (as I thought on 29th ) and the ballad-like 'Dusk Becomes Dawn'. It's so beautiful. "So good that I have known you, loved you, held you before we had to go." In general it is difficult to categorise 'Hadal' as a clear metal album since there is no live drums in the entire record and even metal guitars are absent most of the time. But let it be noted that not once did I seriously miss Frey's screams (only once, temporarily, during the first round of listening to 'Hadal').

I think this is the point in which I need to get Velcra to accompany my band shirt collection.

- - -

The Meme of the Day:
I'll continue circling around this subject, so bear with me… http://www.okcupid.com/tests/take?testid=18341387181249439036.

"You are suicide method #1345: Dark, cold, scary and painful. You are suicide via drowning. People have to plan a little before they come to you for help. You're not as easy to employ as some, but you spark the imagination like few other forms of relief can. At your best, you're a pocket full of rocks and a head full of determination. At worst, you're a Baywatch castmember hellbent on saving people from making their own choices. Only a selected few have what it takes to make use of your talents, and those few don't mind a significant amount of discomfort before greeting the void."

Nope, I wouldn't drown myself. Nice try, but way off.

The picture below is from the cemetery of the town Pietrasanta in Tuscany, Italy. It memorializes a young man who drowned in 1922, at the age of 23.
The hard marble is carved into breaking waves, flowing over the skull. The victim's bony fingers are submersed in the water, grasping at the waves, as he tries to pull himself out. Absolutely beautiful piece of art. And people actually wonder why I find cemetaries inspiring places.

- - -

Post scriptum: Why is it that I'm just really, truly, bluely incapable of writing short entries?

My father is dead.

So, the Polytechnic (oh, I'm sorry, the "university of applied sciences") entrance exam was today. Before getting to the actual matter I just *have* to state that the building is ten times more beautiful than the university. What is a modern, white-and-glass building compared to an old-fashioned stone school with real old-fashioned wooden doors to classrooms and colourful hallways?

- - -

The exam itself was allright. I went there half an hour early (good that I had Frida Kahlo's biography with me), like many others. The exam began with the feared test measuring our capabilities to the field we are applying to. The first parts consisted of fill-in-the-blanks questionnaires. The language part had a test in which we were expected to circle the one word that wasn’t part of the group, and complete sentences in short stories. Then we read an article about the physiology and sociology of laughter and crying, and summarise the article with criticism. In between (to test how well we acquired new information and were able to remember it) we made different maths tests, in both numeral and literal exercises.

The second part was made out of different kind of personality tests. It had one test twice with different time limits; the idea was to fill in these squares, each of which bearing a line or a dot etc. that we were supposed to complete with a picture. I've actually done that one before, and I rest my case: the interpretation of the picture tells more of the psychologist than it tells about me. An example; I drew a sword. Now, does it mean that I'm suicidal since it is a weapon, or does it mean the exact opposite since a sword, at least according to Freud and Jung, is such an obviously phallic object? The same goes to the Rorschach inkblot test we did (can't quite yet tick that off my "things to do before I die" list, I have to wait until July when I can call the psychologist for a detailed analysis). If you’re interested in seeing the inks yourself, see this web site http://ar.geocities.com/rorschach_inkblots/. It’s in Spanish but it has the pictures in colours. You know, as I was looking at them on that site, I noticed how they seemed all different seen close than from afar; they were reflected on a screen from a computer, resulting in the pictures losing their hues. Therefore only the outlines were the basis of my interpretations of them; some had the lamps in front of them so they couldn’t even see them in full. Anyway, the last thing we had to do in the written exam was to draw a mind map of our current self and life at the present time, as well as of our future. That really brought back memories of primary school: we were actually given colouring pens to encourage our creativity when making the map.

The rest of the day we had discussions, two group discussions and one, individual talk with a psychologist who, expectedly enough, asked why I had applied there and what qualities in my opinion would make me a good nurse etc. It was very much like a job interview, really. I was actually expecting something completely different: during the group discussions it turned out that during some interviews the psychologist had acted… in a weird way, like conducting the interview from under the desk. Intriguing.

"Whatever happened to playing a hunch, Scully? The element of surprise, random acts of unpredictability? If we fail to anticipate the unforeseen or expect the unexpected in a universe of infinite possibilities, we may find ourselves at the mercy of anyone or anything that cannot be programmed, categorized or easily referenced." (Mulder in "The X-Files: Fight the Future".)

Now we can only wait and see if yours truly will be a nurse. I’ll post the results when I get them, by the 20th of July. Hell, maybe I’ll share the Rorschach analysis, too, provided that they don’t declare me a sociopath or otherwise disturbed.

- - -

The Meme of the Day:
Since I’m anxious of getting labelled as having some kind of a personality disorder (which, considering the current situation, wouldn’t be that unlikley), I want to prepare for the blow by taking this scientifically astute and infallible quiz at http://www.4degreez.com/misc/personality_disorder_test.mv. That’s the quiz’s opinion of me below.

Avoidant: Very High *)
Antisocial: High
Histrionic [ed. note: = attention-seeking]: High
Narcissistic: High
Obsessive-Compulsive: High
Dependent: Moderate
Paranoid: Moderate
Schizoid [ed. note: = loner]: Moderate
Schizotypal [ed. note: = mild schizophrenia]: Moderate
Borderline: Low

*) "Avoidant personality disorder is characterized by extreme social anxiety. People with this disorder often feel inadequate, avoid social situations, and seek out jobs with little contact with others. Avoidants are fearful of being rejected and worry about embarrassing themselves in front of others. They exaggerate the potential difficulties of new situations to rationalize avoiding them. Often, they will create fantasy worlds to substitute for the real one. Unlike schizoid personality disorder, avoidants yearn for social relations yet feel they are unable to obtain them. They are frequently depressed and have low self-confidence."

- - -

The picture below is the first card of the Rorschach test. Let me know what you see in it, I'm interested.

I found out yesterday that it's not just my brother who is moving out from the house in which I grew up, but my mother is going with him. In other words, my parents are getting a divorce.

Ever since I was a child my mother has threatened to leave my father if he doesn't stop drinking. She said it so many times, and sometimes she even took off her wedding ring. But every time she gave in; she never left him. I am the eldest of the three children and I moved out when I was seventeen. My sister also moved out at the age of seventeen. Now that my brother is seventeen it was expected that he would move out like the two sisters before him. But for some reason, the possibility of my mother going as well never occurred to me. They are moving next Friday.

- - -

I cannot pretend not to feel slightly worried about my father, despite everything he did to me, to us, to the rest of the family. The house is located twenty-five kilometres outside the actual centre of the town, near the town's borders. As far as I can remember, he has never been too social, and all the times we've had to leave the village (to visit relatives on national holidays or the like) he has seemed reluctant to go. All my life he has left the house for three reasons: to buy alcohol, to go drink alcohol with other drunkards in the village or for work. Before I moved out and ever since after it I have had the image that his visits have become rarer and rarer. He can no longer get much work due to the alcohol abuse and even his drunk buddies have gone (some died, some moved elsewhere, some have turned their backs on him).

I'm worried that of the two possibilities he will choose the bad one. I'm worried that, instead of getting a grip of himself and getting rid of alcohol and making things up with my mother, he will isolate himself from the outside world once my mother and brother leave.

I'm worried that he will take his abandonment on the two cats that have to be left behind since they're used to being able to go outside whenever they feel like it, having forest around in which the little predators can roam freely; they're not used to being locked inside an apartment, as they would be if they went with my mother and my brother.

I'm worried that he will sink even deeper in alcohol. My mother already told me that his reaction to her announcement of separation was the usual: he’s been drunk since Tuesday.

I'm worried that he is going to die within a few years. He may kill himself (would not be unexpected, he has tried it before); shoot himself with the gun he killed our dog, or take an overdose of sleeping pills, or get in a car with a tube from the exhaust pipe to the inside, start the car and keep it going until he dies of inhaling enough carbon monoxide. Or he may have an accident while he’s drunk; he might trip and brake his neck; he may trip and brake his legs, and wither away after laying on the floor alone for days; he may drop a cigarette as he passes out after drinking enough and he sets the wooden house on fire. Or then he may keep on drinking until his liver simply gives up. He may be dead for days, or weeks, before anyone bothers to check up on him. That person is likely to be a neighbour (they used to be our friends), or maybe my father’s parents, but even they cannot live forever to take care of their first born.

What the hell can I do? I can’t make him realise that this was caused by his alcoholism, and to make things even a little better he must get sober for good, not only for the family but for himself as well. I can’t force him to go outside the house; he hasn’t done it before and he sure is not going to start now. His self esteem is so low, battered to the ground by everyone (including me), not least by himself. But I can’t force others to keep him company, either. The loneliness, the abandonment, these are the consequences of his actions as well as those of the rest of us. If others don’t want to have anything to do with him, I cannot do anything about that. But I don’t want to go there either. The bus connections being so poor I couldn’t get away without hitchhiking a lift to the nearest bus station, as he would likely be drunk and unable to drive a car. I remember when I had to ride with him when he was drunk; I was afraid. Of course I was afraid.

I’m worried people will even call him, to know how he’s doing. But that means me as well. I know more than well what he’s like when he’s drunk; I left to get rid of all that and talking to him on the phone would bring me back to that shit. Funny… right now, thinking of him dead, I think I would regret that I stopped answering his calls a year ago. He has ever only called me when he’s drunk, and I don’t want to talk to him in that state. But what if… what if they were all cries for help, brought out in the only way he knows? What if I should have answered them, at least I wouldn’t have blocked him out so completely.

- - -

I see I already write about him in past tense, as he were already dead. I’m worried my father’s funeral will be held before my brother’s graduation party. I stare at the keyboard before me and some words jump out on their own from the randomly set letters: “after”, “drunk”. Maybe I’ve just written them too many times.

- - -

I don’t drink alcohol at all (for obvious reasons) but I know most people, especially here in Finland, use it to great extent. Tukiasema spread information on mental issues via Internet, including alcoholism. For the sake of yourself as well as those around you, see if your alcohol consumption has got out of hand at http://www.tukiasema.net/gallup/default.asp?gallupID=26.

Fuck that promise. I will never learn to shut up but always remain the one who says stupid things about wrong people at wrong time in wrong places. But I cannot stop writing. Especially tonight.

- - -

On Monday, as I was cycling back home from work, my mother called me and after getting her main thing sorted out, a similar conversation to the following took place:

"Have you, by the way, heard what your little brother did last Saturday?"
"No. Did he get the police after him again?"
"No. He took ten of your father's sleeping pills at school."
"At school? On Saturday?"
"Yes."
"At the graduation ceremony?"
"Yes. He's alright now, the doctor said he's fine."

It took two days for me to hear that my only brother had tried to kill himself, and I hear it from a woman who said it with a very matter-of-factly tone.

My sister stayed over at my place last night for she had an entrance exam to the local polytechnic today. My mother and my brother came here to come and get her, and they turned up behind my door without notifying me. As I looked through the Eye in the door and saw my brother... I don't know what I was thinking, or whether I was thinking anything at all. During their short visit not once was the Saturday's events mentioned or even referred to. It was that same huge hippo in the living room, or as in my case in the kitchen, whose presence everyone were determined not to acknowledge. Everyone, including me (albeit for reasons unknown), acted like nothing of that sort had ever happened. Anyway, it didn't hit me until later tonight, now, that anytime may be the last time I see my brother alive.

The annual Parental Award definitely does not go to our parents; one has had an eating disorder and a tendency for self-mutilation by cutting the arms, one *seems* normal, and the third... well, an actual suicide attempt should say all that needs to be said. And yet, after all this, our parents choose to ignore everything and continue to refuse to look in the mirror. Really, my parents are the very evidence that proves that s t r a i g h t parents do not automatically produce stable and productive member to this society.

I don't condemn or judge my little brother's actions. It is his choice. Not to mention that when I was fifteen I almost completely planned how to kill myself (the plan still stands, in spite of the problem of how to get hold of cyanide). He’s already going to a psychologist, and since I went to the very same psychologist I know she should be more than able to help him. Anyway, they’re looking for an apartment for him to live in for the last year he has left in high school. We’ll see if we have his graduation party next year, or whether we’ll be attending his funeral instead.

I think I'll re-read Anna-Leena Härkönen’s "Loppuunkäsitelty" tonight.

- - -

The rain comes falling down
My life flows to the ground
No longer feeling the pain
My flame now fading away

Sentenced: The rain comes falling down

- - -

"There are certainly far more people who do not kill themselves because they are too cowardly to do so, than those who kill themselves out of cowardice…"

Paul-Louis Landsberg in 'The Experience of Death and The Moral Problem of Suicide'.

- - -

The Meme of the Day:

Q: Why the rabbits haven't over-populated the Earth despite their fertile loins?
A: http://alisher.city.tomsk.net/shared/bunnies/

(The painting below; "Suicide" by Edouard Manet, 1877.)

"Verta imevä perhonen kyynelyökkönen on kotiutumassa Suomen luontoon. Lajista on tehty vuoden 2000 jälkeen yli sata havaintoa.

Perhoselle kelpaa myös ihmisveri. Suomen luonnonsuojeluliiton viestintäpäällikkö Matti Nieminen ei kuitenkaan usko, että yöaikaan liikkuvasta perhosesta on todellista vaaraa ihmiselle.

- Vaikka se perhonen kykenee imemään ihmisen verta, niin todennäköistä on se, että se ei kuitenkaan ryntää ihmisten iholle. Turha on pelätä sitä, että öisin tämmöinen vaara olisi Suomessa tästä eteenpäin, Nieminen rauhoittelee.

Kyynelyökkösen imukärsä on tavallista vahvempi ja siinä on väkäset, jotka mahdollistavat ihoon kiinnittymisen. Yleensä perhosten imukärsä soveltuu vain veden ja kasvien nesteiden imemiseen.

Suomen Luonto -lehdessä julkaistiin tiettävästi ensimmäinen kuva, jossa kyynelyökkönen imee verta perhostutkijan sormesta. Kun perhosia ei häiritä, veren imeminen kestää muutamia minuutteja. Imukohtaa särkee seuraavat kaksi-kolme tuntia ja imukohta erottuu vielä seuraavana päivänä aavistuksen turvonneena.

Kyynelyökkösen suomalainen nimi tulee siitä, että lajin on tiedettuy imevän kyyneliä nisäkkäiden silmistä, ja jopa verta näiden ihon läpi."

Source: MTV3 - http://www.mtv3.fi/uutiset/kotimaa.shtml/arkistot/kotimaa/2007/06/532892

(shivering...) I'm beginning to believe in karma... I SAID I WAS SORRY!

Earlier this spring someone here came across with the problem of writing about private matters publically behind a nick. I have now encountered the same thing, and as a result The Other World will take a brake until I learn to shut up. It may take a while so all of you have a nice summer, during which I will dwell on the consequences of this blog and my inability to think before talking (or sending an e-mail...) for the rest of the summer and concentrate on my second blog that doesn't allow me to rant and rave about other people.

Fare thee well.