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Kuzma Kononov
Kuzma Kononov

1 : The Dawn Of Despair !LINK!


The increase in deaths of despair has been so large among non-Hispanic whites between the ages of 45 and 54 that it has caused overall mortality in this group to rise since 1999. For this reason, Case and Deaton devote special attention to the group. We display trends for the overall population and for non-Hispanic whites in this midlife age range. (Prior to 1999, Hispanic whites and non-Hispanic whites cannot be separated, so we include all whites together. Our checks indicate this has a minimal impact on the trends and levels reported here.)2




1 : The Dawn of Despair



Figure 2 provides trends using age-adjusted mortality rates. The CDC has estimated rates that hold constant 11 age groups at their 2000 shares of the population, so that the changes in rates over time are unaffected by whether older or younger people are becoming more or less prevalent. The long-term patterns for deaths of despair are similar to those for the crude rates, but the estimates are available only back to 1959. Age-adjusted suicide rates go all the way back to 1900, and they indicate higher death rates than the crude rates early in the 20th century. This suggests that if the early-20th-century population had been as old as the 2000 population, the overall crude suicide rate would have been higher (as well as, in all likelihood, the crude rates for drug- and alcohol-related deaths). It is unclear that age-adjusted comparisons over such a long period are better than the crude comparisons, however; people live longer in 2000 than in 1900 because life is materially better and easier, so imposing that age distribution on the 1900 population is a somewhat artificial exercise. Nevertheless, it is likely that age-adjusted deaths of despair rates for the early 20th century would be higher than the crude rates shown in Figure 1 for the same period.


Figure 3 shows the age-adjusted trend since 1959 for whites between the ages of 45 and 54 (non-Hispanic whites from 1998 forward). Among this group, the 1975 peak was followed by a large drop in deaths of despair, so that the 1988 rate was the lowest on record. Soon thereafter, the situation deteriorated dramatically. From that low of 32.6 deaths per 100,000, the rate rose to 48.5 in 2002 (exceeding the 1975 peak) and to 91.6 in 2017.


Suicides spiked with the onset of the Great Depression, but they were rising steadily throughout the 1920s. The declines after 1915 and 1938 are partly attributable to World Wars I and II. These drops do not so much reflect the substitution of war-related deaths for suicides: suicide fell among women during these periods too, and the declines began before Americans entered the conflicts. Rather, as Emile Durkheim first posited, the likely explanation is that wars promote social integration, which reduces despair.4 The Panic of 1907 may also have caused a spike in suicides, but there too the increase had begun years earlier. The influenza epidemic of 1918 substituted flu deaths for some suicides, lowering the suicide rate.


Even the trends in suicide and alcohol-related deaths however, presumably reflect factors other than changes in despair. Figure 8 shows trends in self-reported unhappiness from four sources.12 Together, three of the four tell a consistent story of falling and then rising unhappiness. But while deaths of despair rose between 1965 and 1975 and then leveled off over the next 15 years, unhappiness fell over the period (with a temporary increase during the double-dip recession of the early 1980s). Unhappiness then rose, but the upward march of deaths of despair began only with a ten-year delay, starting in 2000. Furthermore, if the Gallup Organization trend in unhappiness is correct, unhappiness was flat to declining even in the 1990s and 2000s. Previous research by the Social Capital Project has found little evidence that loneliness has changed much over the long run.13


The song masterfully captures that moment in which one realizes that a love affair has ended, yet it is not at all clear how one will get on with life. For this sort of despair, the passage of time is often the most effective balm for what feels like a broken heart. Friends can be very helpful in providing the space and opportunity for the brokenhearted to come to grips with his despair and make possible the return of hope.


How can the psalmist walk back from the precipice of despair by himself? One strategy is historical memory: the psalmist consoles himself by remembering that God has helped his people in the past. They cried out for help, and God helped him. God will provide relief because he has done so in the past. Another strategy is to look back at his life. The psalmist recalls his birth and upbringing, and the way in which God protected him earlier in life. Both the historical past of his people as well as the memories of his own biography provide reason for hope. His ultimate loneliness is perhaps only temporary. These remembrances are like amulets, relics of past hope, that he can hold onto in the reliquary of his memory. They are charms protecting him against his worst fears: abandonment by God and by everyone else, the loss of health, and finally the end of life itself. Later in Psalm 22 we learn that the psalmist bravely resolves to honor God publicly upon his deliverance and return to health. The amulets of past help and protection by God provide strength and solace to the psalmist in the face of despair.


I think it worked for other people who have seen the film, may I remind you that there are people who tends to understand it more when presented visually. I respect your opinion, but what done is done. All shall love the movie and despair


Stanley Niceley, a three-year starter at linebacker and offensive guard for the Bulldogs, unfolded a sheet of paper and read about growing up in a neighborhood where poverty and crime created an atmosphere of despair for young people.


The memory of you emerges from the night around me.The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.Deserted like the wharves at dawn.It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one! Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.In you the wars and the flights accumulated.From you the wings of the song birds rose.You swallowed everything, like distance.Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank! It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank! In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.Lost discoverer, in you everything sank! You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,sadness stunned you, in you everything sank! I made the wall of shadow draw back,beyond desire and act, I walked on.Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.There was the black solitude of the islands,and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain mein the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms! How terrible and brief my desire was to you! How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.Oh the mad coupling of hope and forcein which we merged and despaired.And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.And the word scarcely begun on the lips.This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank! Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned! From billow to billow you still called and sang.Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,lost discoverer, in you everything sank! It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hourwhich the night fastens to all the timetables.The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.Deserted like the wharves at dawn.Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one! 041b061a72


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