The Sepia Tinge of Decay

Echo of footsteps
A sharp fluorescent buzzing
Empty grocery store

I spent way too much time watching Dan Bell's Dead Mall series on YouTube last night, and it creeped me out. Dan Bell himself is appreciative of the period architecture and kitsch aesthetic, and he doesn't film in a way that attempts to create elements of horror where none exist, but there's still something upsetting about these places.

This video series is all very Rust Belt; and, based on the specific locations, I would assume that this slowly creeping neglect is connected to both rural depopulation and the institutionalized economic marginalization of Black communities. That's upsetting enough in and of itself, of course.

But there's also a more universal memento mori quality to these videos that inspires a dread of cultural senescence.

I feel like someone should make a video series along the same lines about abandoned websites, because they give off the same sort of energy. It's not nostalgia, because the affect is distinctly negative, but it's similar. I think what makes the urban exploration of abandoned malls unpleasant is that they're "abandoned" instead of "closed," meaning that the lights are still on and the water is still running. If they were completely shut down and gradually being overtaken by nature, they would be beautiful, but there are still people inside these almost-dead buildings, and that's disturbing. In the same way, online spaces like Blogspot/Blogger feel weird because there are still a few people using them, and websites for children's movies from the 2000s are a little eerie because someone is still paying to host them. You want to feel nostalgia when you look at the past; but then, when you realize that it's not safely in the past, it's uncomfortable and uncanny.

Also, can I be real for a second? Tumblr is starting to take on an "abandoned mall" feeling, and I don't like it.

Decision Making with Anxiety

Although I'm doing a little better this year than I was last year, I'm still in a very bad place. It's weird that this is my life now; but, since it looks like I'll be here awhile, it's become necessary to reevaluate how I make decisions so that I'm not acting from pain, fear, and anger.

Part of being an adult is having to make decisions about things that are 60% bad and 40% good. Like, is the 40% good more meaningful than the 60% bad? Even if the 40% good doesn't justify the 60% bad, is the 40% good important enough to make the 60% bad a necessary evil? And, if it does, how do you develop the courage and the moral character to endure the consequences of the 60% bad? These are questions that smarter and wiser people than myself struggle with, and I don't have a definite set of answers.

What I've started to realize about myself, however, is that there are actually two versions of me, Normal Me and Anxiety Me, and that Normal Me has to make compassionate decisions for Anxiety Me.

Normal Me is ambitious and loves other people and wants to be involved in projects, while Anxiety Me is all about intense panic attacks, violent self-harm, and aggressive suicidal ideation. Normal Me wants to make the world a better place, but Anxiety Me just wants to make it through the day in one piece. I would like to think that Normal Me is always going to Do The Right Thing to the best of my understanding and ability, but Anxiety Me is capable of engaging in some truly shitty behavior for the sake of self-defense.

This is why, when I make a decision, I first have to figure out whether that decision involves Anxiety Me; and, if it does, I have to be very kind to Anxiety Me so that I don't end up putting myself in what will feel like a fight-or-flight situation. I'm still figuring out what triggers this response, but I think the most important thing is listening when Anxiety Me says, "I'm actually really not okay with this."

This feels like a strange way to describe the situation, but I'm still in the process of figuring things out. I'd like to think that I'm still the same person even with this illness, but the change of circumstances means that I can't rely on the same set of decision making skills, and it's going to take time to develop new ones.