nihilism with Susan

I fear that my response to this nihilism topic will be far less thoughtful (read: thoughtless) than m'colleague's. As it brings with it an immensely broad spectrum of paradoxical discussions and conversations I will try to be brief and ask for the sympathy of our nonreaders because faced with what has come before me, I fear embarrassment.

Nihilism has followed me from an early age. For various reasons I was an unhappy child, lacking the carefree childhood that most of you out there would know. I dunno, life is rife with disappointment. Nihilism for me is one of those things that you can forget about if you concentrate on little things like: where am I going to live this year? will eating heaps of Lord of the Fries make my skin oily? did that busker think I was a weirdo when I threw a note into his guitar case? I forgot to take my washing off the line! the house smells like cats now! my cat pees everywhere and she's going mad! and so on.

But try as you might, you cannot escape it. When you are on long train journeys it becomes hard to avoid. For a good portion of last year I was constantly knee deep in nihilism. At this point, I should clarify my own understanding and personal interpretation of the word. [When I feel nihilistic it's like] a manifestation of all the negative feelings I have about nothingness and meaninglessness. When I was about 15 I used to call these 'fears of impermanence'. They come swirling at me out of nowhere (HA!) and drag me into this awful place, mentally of course, you muppet, where simply everything becomes utterly terrifying. Stacey has alluded to this in her post, so if you need clarification of just what perhaps I mean by 'utterly terrifying' you should read what she said. Back in the physical world, I lash at the tiles in my bathroom, claw at my limbs and try to breathe.

One must learn to deal, though and I should add that there is a positive side to this. After things are terrifying, you tend to realise how random and beautiful they are. It makes walking to the train station or sitting, watching people go by a whole lot nicer. Then while this is happening to you, you cheer up and then remember all your real life concerns. Nihilism can be strong, but the pull of real life is generally stronger.

At this juncture, there are various people that I want to quote for relevance, comfort and support but I'll just briefly mention their names: Neutral Milk Hotel, the entirety of the film the Hours, some Bright Eyes songs, a few other books.. blah. But an extract from Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf (that I am currently reading, for those of you playing at home) seems most relevant:

Did it matter, then, she asked herself, walking toward Bond street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely? but that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived, Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself.

Basically, nihilism is something that I live with. It comes and goes. As Stacey said in her post (more or less; I hope I have not misunderstood), I think that the value of nihilism is that it teaches us, most importantly, that life is valuable.