I wish this post could be appropriately titled, “Return to Charlotte Rampling.”
Welcome, once again, to the USS Insomniactive. Today, we’ll be heading down the stream of consciousness. Strap in and have a few shots. This could get hairy. Or really boring.
Depends on perspective.
Early, I thought this:
There is a vast chasm between seeking answers and seeking the answer you want to hear, and chasms impede progress.
And I’m surprised that I never thought it sooner, as it is as applicable to myself (even today, but especially years ago) as it is to anyone that may or may not have inspired the thought. If you seek out advice, the source of advice is important; not only for the quality of what you will get out of it, but also for knowing what to expect. Some people will treat a depressed person like a china doll, and tell them exactly what (they think) the depressed person wants to hear. Some people will tell them bluntly what (they think) they need to hear.
Is one any worse than the other? I still think that the chasm between the two impedes progress from the sad state to the content, or even happy, state. It’s not that you can’t cross a chasm, but it takes a lot more time and effort.
Keeping in mind, too, that advice comes from the mouths of humans, and us humans? We don’t know shit.
On a lot of levels, I’m guessing that there are no definitive answers, nothing quantifiable in a scientific manner. I argue that if there were, we’d know about “The Answer” by now.
Depression — like anger — is like a warm blanket you got from a British colonial soldier. It’s comfortable, and warm, and easy to justify hiding inside. And eventually, it will kill you, because that blanket is diseased, soaked in tuberculosis or syphillis or whatever the current rage is. The trick to beating depression is fighting it, not giving in to it.
Not to suggest that it’s easy, or so matter of fact. That’s why I chose the word “fighting.” In time, as you become more practiced and conditioned, fighting becomes easier, but the potential for pain is inherent.
You learn to live with it.
I’m not as sanctimonious as I seem, I think. Because I’ll tell you up front, the more I know, the more I realize that I know jackshit about fuck-all. Because I can pass on what I’ve learned from my experiences over 37 years, but I still have trouble remembering my own advice sometimes. And even remembering, I sometimes choose to ignore. I sometimes like the cold comfort of withdrawing into my own head and reminding myself of how much better it could be, of how much better it was, of how much the here and now sucks. That’s easy, like falling asleep in the snow instead of pushing on to salvation.
But somewhere in the back of my head, I always know. Even if I don’t know anything, in the end.
And I realize that there is no universal answer, because the answer — and the question that compels it — is ultimately derived not just from the question but also from all the life experiences that have shaped and affected the seeker from day zero. It’s contextual. If it wasn’t, then maybe seeing a psychologist would work for everyone, or taking Effexor, or listening to cinematic music and reading Vonnegut. But none of these works for everyone.
The best we can do is suggest what has worked for us, offering a path of exploration for the seeker, understanding that theirs might be a different path, and that there is no right or wrong in it.
Also: never try to quantify anyone’s emotions, especially in comparison with your own. It is impossible — impossible — to know how anyone feels. You have only your own point of reference for that, and that automatically colors your comparison. Yes, you and I are looking at the same sky, but we can never be sure that we perceive the colo blue the same way. Every situation affects us differently, you and I, and you can never say that I have it easier or harder, because you have no idea that I see things in the same colors and tones that you do.
At the same time, don’t hesitate to offer advice just because you’ve never gone through X situation. Maybe you’ve never been divorced, but you have broken up with someone, or felt heartbreak when your dog died. Maybe you’ve never lost your best friend or spouse, but you might have lost a parent or sibling.
On some level, it becomes a twisted version of method acting. You place yourself in what you imagine is a comparative place of emotional reaction, and you pass on what you’ve learned, what worked to get you through that moment. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t, but you never know if you don’t try.
Most important of all, though, is reminding yourself day in and out that you can’t be responsible for anyone else’s actions or reactions or — especially — feelings. If you live to make someone else happy, ultimately, you will fail. And worse, what will you do when they leave or die? What will you live for then?
We come into this world alone. We go out alone, and we invariably spend a fair amount of time in between alone. And you know, that’s okay. It has to be.
You can’t fix anyone’s problems for them, and you shouldn’t allow others to expect that of you. All you can do is offer them a path, and hope that there is something from your pain and hard work and seeking that perhaps points them in the right direction for their own solutions.
I’m hungry. Someone get me some lunch.
Finally out a few weeks ago is The Big Book of Barry Ween, Boy Genius, a collection of all four volumes of the comic. Highly recommended for anyone looking for a good gateway into graphic literature, or just a really good laugh.