Oh hi, hello! It’s been about forever since I’ve written. Let’s change it with another “get back on the horse” post. But I’ll try to keep it somewhat on topic.
I was on vacation last week, and had about the worst fucking monday possible this week. Why? How? I assumed I’d be in the best possible mood on monday; rested and ready for work, prepared to tackle my job with newfound gusto and knock the job-baseball out of the goddamn park. Or something along those lines.
I was anti-social as fuck. So many people I wanted to talk to, so many people whose lives I was generally interested in, and zero will-power or self-confidence or whatever to actually talk to them. It was disturbing because why the fuck was I even depressed?
Could it be the vacation? I didn’t have a particularly noteworthy vacation and that was the point of it, to be a relaxing vacation and not an “I get shit done” vacation. It wasn’t one that I felt like death returning to work from. Good, relaxing, not really notable in any huge or massive way, not road trip, no flight, no gambling, no cocaine, but oh ever so relaxing. I felt like I finally got my bearings in life, at least a little bit.
I isolated and did all the sulky shit I knew not to do on my first day back just to spite my better judgment. I don’t need to talk to friends; no one likes me anyways. I don’t need to distract myself; I love my self-loathing. Do nothing proactive at all. Just keep busy, try not to think too much and hope it goes away. After work I did come out of my funk a little bit. I wrote to a few friends to let them know I did want to talk but wasn’t feeling it exactly. They seemed understanding, which was nice.
But wait, was I really that thrown off by a single week off of work? A single week is that bad to adjust to? No fucking way. How? Why? Am I that unstable and emotional that I can’t take the jarring change from nothing to socializing and work and doing a job? That’s enough to cause me moderate depression? I swear I am a total softie when it comes to this whole life thing.
Ah, maybe I’m not being honest with myself as people tend to do. Maybe there’s something else lurking in the brain-shadows destroying my mood. Oh yeah, Hitler. Let’s talk about Hitler.
I recently started reading The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich by William L Shirer. Why? Because it sounds fascinating! I burned out on fantasy books, finally admitting temporary defeat to the Wheel of Time series for something lighter. So a 1,256 page book about Nazi Germany is what I went with. That’s a lie: I also bought a 885 page book about the making of the atomic bomb (The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes). Yes. Light non-fightion reading for me lately.
The Hitler Book, as I’ll call it, is obviously very interesting. I’m not far enough where I’m seeing the inevitable parallels between 1930s Germany and 2020s USA (which will give me severe anxiety) and am still naively reading about teenage Adolf before he becomes Hitler. Ya know, the one that did some very very bad shit.
Let’s talk about Adolf Hitler a bit. I consider him the evilist dude to ever had lived, especially in remotely modern times. Sure you can find some worse dudes in ancient histories and stories, but Hitler was alive less than 100 years ago. Hell, 100 years ago Hitler wasn’t even in charge of Germany yet, and it’s easy to forget how not-that-long-ago World War Two actually happened. The shit Hitler did – he’s Hitler for fuck sake – is so vile and well-known that we don’t need to linger here much. Hitler is an evil dude, probably the epitome of evil as a person, and how does one even end up that way?
Let’s just say it’s shocking to read about Hitlers family. You never think about Hitler’s mom or sister or half-brother until you do, then you realize Hitler was a real guy, who was a kid once, and how would that feel knowing you were Adolf Hitlers dad? Might make you question your parenting (or lack thereof) just a wee bit. Or how Hitler had peers when he was in class. Did those kids know Adolf would turn out to be the worst person to ever live in modern memory? Or the people he’d sell paintings to; could anyone in the 1910s comprehend the poor Austrian artist would murder millions of people and start a world war in the next thirty years? Like…what the fuck went wrong? When did Hitler actually become Hitler? Were there signs?
Apparently not. Hitler was always nationalistic and racist it seems, but he wasn’t abused or molested as far as anyone knows. He was poor. He came from a shitty family like millions of others. So how/why did Boy Hitler become Hitler? Sadly I’m going to find out in the next few chapters I guess.
Nature vs. Nurture. Right (or wrong) place at the right (or wrong) time. Predestination. Paranoia about if you could’ve become a Hitler had things worked out slightly differently for you. Did Hitler think he was legit doing the right thing or did he know he was evil as fuck? Heavy questions to have on your first day back from vacation.
I’m in a better mood today so yay for that. Luckily I’m past Hitler’s childhood in the book and I’m not thinking about it as much as I was a few days earlier. Hitler became Hitler and it’s all history and about the only thing anyone can do is learn the lessons from the past. I don’t need to personally torture myself with Hitler’s childhood and asking why he became the way he was is way beyond my paygrade to remotely understand. But coming back after my vacation and reading too much about Adolf Hitler? That can really ruin my mood? Okay brain, you’re fucking stupid.