哲学なんていらない哲学は

Last week, I read Ano's book, 哲学なんていらない哲学は. I don't read Japanese, so I found a discounted epub (¥800) that can only be viewed on the store's website or app, and whose text can't be selected, to prevent copyright infringement. I screenshotted every page, OCRed them to rebuild the book from scratch, machine-translated everything, and made a new document, in English this time, which I turned into an .epub file. I made an alternate cover, using the picture from the third chapter opener.

The book, presented as a philosophy essay, is actually closer to an autobiography that evokes philosophy than to a proper philosophy book. She recounts her school days, when she was bullied; her idol days, when she was ostracised; her habit of self-harm; the death of her chinchilla; her mother's cancer; her Ménière's disease; and her multiple fractures and the stitches or surgeries that ensued. Within all of this, she weaves in her own philosophy.

I can only assume half the beauty of the book was lost in translation, but I still believe I got most of what she tried to say.

"So don’t dismiss your own anguish. Sometimes you need to be kind to yourself and gently pat your own head. You don’t need some grand reason to tell someone, ask for help, leave the place you’re in, or cry. Disinfect the small wound before it becomes fatal."

This paragraph in particular got me, because asking for help or trying to find a reason to stay has become very hard for me. Being kind to myself is something I have basically never been able to do. But I try, here and there I try, even when I get paranoid about people plotting against me and spiral into self-hatred. I don't gently pat my own head, but I try to give myself some grace. I'll buy a book or two, or eat a €10 meal, and I won't regret it. 

I felt deeply ashamed recently because I cut myself for the first time in twenty-five years. I have many friends who have done it, or still do, and I guess I wanted to know why so many people did it. I remember having read somewhere that most did it because it turned an abstract, psychic pain into a fathomable, physical pain. Either I'm too broken for it to work, or I'm not the right target for this kind of self-harm (I've had my own ways for years now, like sleep deprivation or sabotaging), but I only felt shame and blamed the cat for the cuts on my forearm and my knuckles.

Her book concludes with a single sentence: 

"I have no choice but to live."

You're right, Ano-chan, me neither.