What Ronda Rousey's Suicidal Thoughts mean to Regular People

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 "Winning all the time 

isn't what's best for everybody. [...]

 Maybe I had to be that example of 

picking myself up off the floor 

for everyone. 

Maybe that's what I'm meant for".

Ronda Rousey: the very embodiment of the word 'motivation' for most people, arguably until her first loss to competitor Holly Holm at the UFC 193 on November 15, 2015.

I remember being extremely saddened by the fact that I could not acquire tickets to attend UFC 193, particularly considering it took place in my hometown, and that my favorite fighter, Ronda Rousey, would be headlining the main fight. I was ecstatic to think that I could witness the most powerful female at the time clash against another professional fighter and presumably win, cementing her rights to be blatantly outgoing and excessively motivated, and her rights to be boastful. However I missed the ability to attend said event, and had to wait until after the match to hear the predicted results.

But to my surprise, and mind you it was not a surprise that I went through alone, I was notified that such a figure of power and determination had lost. I had to watch the painful replay of her loss myself to believe what I had heard. And watching the knockout at that moment, I saw not only a 50 pound kick to the head, but I saw the closure of a fixated and hardened mind. I saw the bringing down of both a figure of force and supremacy. And I had lost interest in Ronda immediately. She had advertised herself as a beastly winner, fulfilling promises and proving herself true each time. She became a figure of truth, a figure which instilled hope in me: if I could not achieve what I wanted in life, it was okay, because I had the chance to live my achievements through her achievements. She made possible the realm of dreams, and merging of dreams with reality. She made me feel as though motivation and my mind could coexist in harmony.

Video: The highlights of UFC 193 - Ronda Rousey vs. Holly Holm.

And as shallow and selfish as that sounds, it all fell and withered away with her in the duration of that fight. But I had not known the actual impact of that fight until today, February the 17th, 2016. I watched daytime television for the first time in months, flicking uncomfortably through unappealing shows until I settled into watching The Ellen Degeneres Show. Usually my television set, upon the hit of the information button, would show me a synopsis of the show, and that synopsis would contain a list of guests. That list would determine whether or not I would continue watching it. It no longer contains that, and I had to sit through it if I were to find out who was featured on the show. And so I did.

I had not expected myself to experience the first interview Ronda Rousey was to partake in after her loss, discussing her loss. I thought nothing of it. I sat there staring but not focussing at what was being said. The figure of power who had inflated herself into a blimp-sized figure of mass destruction had deflated, and meant nothing to me. I could no longer seek her interviews for motivation. I was disheartened. And then something strange happened. Something, prior to this, that had scarcely taken place for the viewing of the public. Ronda began to cry. I could not determine how an already deflated ego could deflate some more, however it did, and what occurred stunned me.

Ronda transformed from a regular fighter into a symbol of utter power, to a hollowed and distasteful person of fame, then to a regular human being. Ronda rendered herself, again to my surprise, even more fragile than she was when she lost her fight. She no longer partook in a fight against another human, rather a fight within herself. Ronda exposed at the very moments documented below, how real it is to be human. She expressed the dangers of the cognition of existentialism, as well as expressing her victimisation due to this cognition:

"I was in the medical room, down in the corner and I was like, what am I anymore if I'm not this? I was literally sitting there thinking about killing myself and in that exact second I'm like, I'm nothing, I'm like, what do I do anymore? No one gives a sh*t about me anymore".

Ronda has shown that she is aware of her impact on the world and its peoples. She has displayed her understanding of herself and what she means to her existence, as well as the existence of others. In fact, her existence is defined by others. This is the very denotation of existentialism: to exist and to know of your existence and to be able to distinguish your existence from the existence of others. When one is cognitive of their sense of existentialism, one continuously attempts to live at the expectations contained within their existence. Once one is removed from these expectations, one is lost and rendered fragile.

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Ronda's fragility comforts us. This is why her interview has received a positive response. Humans respond to the fragility of others with a sense of empathy. Empathy is the breeding ground of relation. Through Ronda's fragility, we feel as though we can relate to her, and instead of being the display of strength, she has now turned into the display of the very notion of the existence of a human: to try, to fail, to admit, and to rise above and try again.

Another element which makes Ronda seemingly human and less of a machine is her dependence on another being: Travis Browne. Travis is for Ronda what she was to us when she was headstrong and sure of herself. She became plastered all over the media, she who was for the first time a realistic figure that we not only look up to, but rely on. We are merely a group of ants working for the queen ant that is capitalism, and as slaves we look to strength, preferably the visual kind, so as to let it enter our eyes and fill our sous with the hopes of a better tomorrow. She was the possessor of an ideal mind, and ideal mindset and an ideal way to approach the execution of all hurdles life places before us:

"I looked up and I saw my man, Travis. [He] was standing there and I just looked up at him and I was just like, I need to have his babies. I need to stay alive. [...] I was meant to have him when I was at my lowest".

However bad her knockout, both literal and figurative (in terms of her deflation), Ronda has scattered herself into a pile of ashes, proclaimed her loss of self, and from that proclamation picked herself up, pieced herself together and has risen into a fiery phoenix of motivation, this time with bigger and brighter flames, forcing onlookers to squint and those with their backs turned hold fast to their napes as her flames scorch their ignorance and impartiality. And again we look, but this time after having regained her trust because of her fragility, we do not look up at her, we look up to her. And she recognises that, hence reaffirming her self-efficacy due to her newly transformed sense of motivation:

"I really do believe that I'm still undefeated because being defeated is a choice; everybody has losses in their life but I choose to always be undefeated".

"Good for you", replied Ellen, slapping her hand down on her armchair.

No, Ellen. Good for us. Good for us.

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Robin Williams: the Dangers of a Facade

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As we all now have come to know, the king of comedy has passed away. Robin Williams reportedly committed suicide, asphyxiated himself. While many are mourning the loss of Robin due to his enormous sense of humour, I cannot help but think about something else.

I think that people are so fixated on his facade of happiness and humour, that they are forgetting the tragedy in all of this; the worst part of Robin Williams' passing is knowing that someone who appeared so content was the utter opposite internally - that someone who lived his life ensuring the happiness of others had a limited amount of his own. Millions of people are fighting depression and it leaves me feeling morose knowing that another has lost the arduous battle it brings to its victims. 

Suffering from depression is not the simplest of tasks. It consists of a lifetime of mental struggle. It digs a dark abyss into the sufferer's mind and expands deep into a depth where an end is unseen - if one were to throw a rock into it, they would not hear the sound when it reaches the bottom, mainly because for most sufferers, there exists no bottom. They thus fall into a loophole of darkness, a barren mental realm where no light thrives. They float in it and when they cannot barely make their way out of it, they find themselves caught there, their bodies having no choice but to remain immobile as their owners leave the world behind.

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Just then, a tribute movie containing Robin Williams was televised: Mrs Doubtfire. Though I have seen it hundreds of times, this particular viewing had me catching on two quotes that I otherwise never noticed.  The first, dressed as Mrs Doubtfire, Robin says, "this is not a way of life... it's just a job." And I thought deeply about that quote. Figuratively, it is representative of his role as an actor and a comedian - just because he pretended to be happy, it does not necessarily mean that he was. In saying that, the general public needs to keep in mind that actors are humans with careers too. They act as their job requires, and they take off the acting mask when they reach home, and in his case, Robin unfortunately did not mimic his mask.

Another quote stuck out to me - this was when Robin, not dressed as Mrs Doubtfire, rather dressed as his second character, Daniel, says to his movie wife Miranda in discussion of their divorce, "you want me to pretend everything's all right? Put on a happy face? Smile?" And I think that that quote there highlights the issue with people failing to understand why he has prematurely ended his life. If they are in a state of discontent, it is difficult enough to have to act like they are not so as to protect their self-esteem, let alone the difficulty they face in having to keep that act constantly so as to ensure recipients are content. And all actors and actresses face this problem. Fans are simply too demanding. But life itself, existence, is much more demanding. Once the acting is turned off, once the wearer is temporarily relieved of the mask, reality kicks in and life becomes difficult to deal with again.

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It is a strange phenomenon for someone who is so terribly melancholic to act as though they are happy. Greek tragedy began in 5 BC. I remember taking a sociology class, wherein my tutor mentioned a theorist, MacIntyre, who believed that man is 'a storytelling-animal'. He continued, 'I can only answer the question ‘What am I to do?’ if I can answer the prior question ‘Of what story or stories do I find myself a part?’' In saying this, MacIntyre implied that we retell stories in order to know ourselves better. We act in order to fit, and thus falls Robin Williams. He acted, I hypothesise, as a form of denial; it is safe to say that he clearly fooled everyone, however the main person he fooled was himself. In pretending that everything was okay, he believed it. Even for a short amount of time, even if he knew that it was not, he believed in that moment that it was, and he reveled in that moment, and that is what made him a great comedian. 

I would certainly know this because it is the case with me. For as long as I can remember, I too have been dealing with depression. It is something that I cannot shake from myself, and I have grown to accept it despite its unhealthiness. I know too well the use of a facade to mask my true feelings, and unfortunately it is something that cannot be helped. So I understand why Robin did what he did, and as a fellow human sufferer I am saddened not because I lost a favourite actor, but because I lost a fellow brother. Laughter is truly a medicine. It is helping me overcome my darkest thoughts, and to see everyone else's reaction to my humour makes me even more happy, so much so that I forget that I was ever sad.

Let me paint a picture of how it is to live with depression, or at least grant you a painting from my ongoing experience of it: imagine a little girl. Let us name that little girl 'Life'. Life has wanted her own heart balloon ever since she could walk. One day, she found one caught in a tree. It was a red heart balloon that was filled with helium. It sometimes was so strong that it would almost slip away from Life. Life held tightly to it, until one day, a large wind picked up with it Life's beautiful red balloon and it flew out of Life's reach. No matter how high Life tried to jump, that balloon would not come down. Depression sufferers are that balloon. Some come back down to Life, and Life repairs them and inflates them again and they fly despite all of their beautiful scars. Some never return to Life.

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We find ourselves starting most conversations, following with a greeting, with 'are you okay?' But I find that we do not really expand on that. The other person in the conversation either lies and says that they are, or complains about complaining, or begins to tell the asker reasons as to why they are not okay. And the asker may or may not take it under their wing entirely, but I think that we do not delve deep enough into asking someone if they truly are or are not okay. And I think that if we started to, instead of using it like a secondary greeting, we would notice that a lot more people than not are wearing masks.

'R U OK? DAY' falls on the 11th of September each month. It is the only day of the year by this company commemorated to making sure that somebody is okay. I think that this day should outstretch to the length of 365 days. We need to be asked each day what we are feeling, because there goes by no day where something does not bring someone down, where something does not pull up that red balloon from Life.

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Depression is a real illness. It continues to claim the lives of many. In order for sufferers to be strong, we have to bond with one another. My hand is held out for whoever wishes to hold it. Our world can be so barren, but if we unite we can help each other feel less alone in this. Nobody should ever feel that they are the only one going through this tribulation, because the reality is that a lot of people are, and the main ones are those who pretend that they are unaffected.

Rest in peace, Robin Williams.

Kurt Cobain

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"I have a goddess of a wife who sweats ambition and empathy and a daughter who reminds me too much of what I used to be, full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm.
And that terrifies me to the point to where I can barely function.
I can't stand the thought of Frances becoming the miserable, self-destructive, death rocker that I've become.

I have it good, very good, and I'm grateful, but since the age of seven, I've become hateful towards all humans in general.
Only because it seems so easy for people to get along that have empathy.
Only because I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess."

I never have really bothered to inquire about Kurt Cobain or his suicide or his band or anything to really do with him, simply because a cheap merchandise store thought it was okay to place 'Nirvana' on cheap t-shirts and every girl and boy wore it not knowing who Nirvana really was, and it turned me off wanting to get to know this elusive figure.

But I thought it appropriate to do so today, the day which marks his suicide's twentieth anniversary. Any suicide pains me to inquire about because people who commit suicide go to a very dark place, a place that no light can illuminate, and that darkness lingers for all eternity, and it lingers now as I try to look through the looking-glass towards Kurt. I am currently listening to him singing Where did You Sleep Last Night and I am experiencing a strange feeling, especially after having read his suicide note and after having seen pictures from his death. It is a sort of sickly feeling, one that will lie in the pits of my stomach until I forget about Kurt having shot himself in the head as a form of escape from the world that he failed to continue to see the light in, as shown in the excerpt from his suicide note, above.

I can align with Kurt when he says that he is "terrif[ied]" about how his daughter was once like him, "full of love and joy, kissing every person she meets because everyone is good and will do her no harm". Knowing the true colours of most people is something that comes with age, and what a glorious, distant thing age seems to every child. I still remember my tenth birthday, where I told my mother I could not wait to grow age so that I could receive my first gameboy, a gameboy colour - clear purple, along with the game Pok'emon Crystal, which featured animated pok'emon. I simply could not wait, and she told me that I will one day age and regret it, and now I know why. There is so much evil in the world, and I am assuming that, based on Kurt's manner of thought right before his death, that somebody had done something horrible to him to the extent where he had "become hateful towards all humans in general". 

What compels me to become interested in those who have committed suicide is what draws them to do so, and what frightens me at the same time is that their opinions align with mine. "I love and feel sorry for people too much I guess", and as do I, and I also know the consequence of unrequited love, unrequited emotions and unrequited attachment. Severe attachment to another is lethal on one's mental state, and I have learnt that the way that I have learnt about everything abhorrent this world has to offer: the hard way. But I have not learnt it hard enough, well, at least not as hard as Kurt, who had turned to heroin. I cannot imagine the mental distraught this man had gone through from something, that it led him to a needle pointed near his elbow. In inquiring about what compels me to gain interest in these people, I have also an interest in what compels people who inflict mental harm upon others to do so.

Though Kurt clearly had hatred for all humans, he still had some light left in him, ending his note with "peace, love, empathy" and "I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU" sprawled twice in capital letters. At twenty-seven years old, Kurt had prematurely ended his life, which still is impacting on many today, but certainly not on those unaware teenagers who wear cheap shirts with 'Nirvana' on them. Hopefully they will not feel the mental agitation Kurt had felt. And Kurt, it has taken me twenty years since your suicide to realise that you and I are alike in some ways, and for that I am eternally sorry. May you find mental serenity wherever you now are.