An onymous rambling...

I suppose the title carries a false construction.  I care, but not enough to find a better title.  Hopefully my meaning comes through: It's a named rambling... not anonymous, but onymous... were that a word.

And what am I rambling about today?  Well, I'll start with the idea of anonymity.  I was thinking of starting an anonymous blog today... because I have some things to say that I'd prefer to keep anonymous.  And yet, I figure the NSA would know quickly enough who was writing it.  And google would, too.  I'd have to go to great lengths to keep my writing truly anonymous.  I might not even be able to at all.  So why bother?  Not to mention, it's been proven to me before that my way of writing is unique enough that people who know me can recognize me, just by my words.  So even if I managed to allude any technical ways of uncovering my identity in the world of digital identity (writing things offline, uploading them on some library or Internet cafe computer or something), I'd still be identifiable. So what's the point?

So I'm writing today under my usual identity, fully revealed, totally unconcealed.  Will I write the same words this way?  Probably not.  But I don't know what I'm going to write, just yet, I'm simply writing.  I probably will touch on at least some of it.

For example, I think I'll go ahead and write publicly (for good or for ill) about a certain experience I have sometimes... one I had this morning, upon my first waking, though it's certainly not new.  I sensed a bit of pain in my chest... high up, a little to the left.  Was it my heart?  Perhaps.  Perhaps it was just gas (I certainly have some, sometimes... as those who have spent nights with me will know), though, pressing on a nerve that also serves that region.  Or perhaps it was anxiety.  Who knows?  I don't.  I do know that I specifically have not sought medical attention for it.  I have, at times, checked my pulse, and it's seemed quite normal and calm in those moments.  And it's not yet amounted to anything.  And when I have gotten blood pressure taken, as a matter of course for other medical attention (regular check-ups, whatever), it's been quite normal.  Not that there couldn't be some erratic condition, I suppose.  But here's the thing: In these moments... and really, even as I write these words... I wish for there to be something wrong.  I wish for my heart to fail.  For I do not wish to live in this world anymore, and yet I do not wish to take my own life.

There.  I said it.  "Out loud", for the world to be able to read.  Will I regret it?  Oh, who knows.  I doubt that many will read this... and the few who do will probably already have known that, at least to some degree.  Perhaps I'll get other readers, though, who simply know what it's like to want to die, yet want to avoid suicide.

You see, suicide is an act that's seen by many as cowardly.  Frankly, I disagree, and maybe I'll go into that at some point.  For now, though, just knowing that that's how its seen is enough to "puzzle the will", as Hamlet put it.  And not even because I care so very much about being deemed a coward.  I am one, after all, to not face up to this opinion and do what I please.  No, that's not it.  Instead, it's that I fear that my departure would go mis-understood, and in doing so, lose some of my chance for having some useful impact on the world.  Not to mention the shortening of my life, to use my own words.  Which I guess is why I'm here.  I do want to have some impact on the world, somehow... to show people that things could be better than they are, in myriad ways.  More than myriad, for that's too countable a sum.  And the population of humans, too uncountable.

There are simply too many of us.  We need to reduce our numbers.  And by "need" I truly mean that it is a necessity - one that will be carried out for us, if we don't do it ourselves.  And that's a great fear of mine... that we won't do enough to reduce our numbers ourselves, through conscious, intentioned act, and that it will then be done for us - by our own actions, but not our intent, per se.  We'll create climatic disruptions, or other such things, that will disrupt our ability to feed the 7,039,670,585+ of us humans that currently are estimated to live on this earth.  And then there'll be increased hunger.  And increased hunger will increase anger, and thus fighting, and thus deaths... and thus decrease population.  Probably, the way I figure it, by a lot.

We could probably avoid the fighting, though, if we'd simply stop growing our population.  For growth cannot go on forever.  That hamster is impossible, as hopefully a few of you already know.  (And if you don't understand the math behind this, don't take it from me - take it from Al Bartlett, and his explanation of the exponential function.)

But I'm getting off topic, in a way.  This is all relevant to my personal feelings about things, but it's only one factor, and my intention was to talk about me, here.  Not that I'm trying to be a narcissist or something.  Rather, that I believe expressions of personal experience are important, somehow.  People resonate with personal stories... so I'll tell you a little of mine, to help you see the...

Err, sorry.  Massive interruption of my flow.  More later.  Maybe.  Urgh, I was in such a good flow when I typed 90% of this yesterday... Now...... not so much.  Sorry to be vague, but I'm just not prepared to type about the current situations.