Time travel has always been my go to daydream. I'd get lost in the surface thoughts of a future version of me showing up to tell me all that lay ahead, give me a sense of who I would become. Recently, it hit me that, seeing as I now see myself as the one who travels back, I really have gotten older. The future I saw for myself never anticipated the baldness.
I'd tell myself a lot of things about the future that became my present, and amongst them I'd focus on society's changes, even within the last decade. And make no mistake about it, society has and will continue to change in incredible ways. Opinions will change and people will evolve. It's what we do, now likely at a quicker rate than ever before. And a large reason for that has been the impact of social media. I believe access to these sites and apps has been a genuine tool for positive attitude shifts in our culture. It really has brought the world together. Sure, there are still kinks to be ironed out. Nobody wants to view more evidence that their crazy aunt Pauline really hates brown people, but there's reason for hope in it. Not about Pauline though. Fuck Pauline. You hear that, fictional family member? Fuck your fictional self.
"Things change, people change, hairstyles change, interest rates fluctuate."
But some things are not changing quickly enough.
Life can hang by a thought.
In September 2012, I was sitting on a too small couch, drinking beer and scrolling through Facebook when I saw something that stopped my heart for just a beat- a picture of a friend. That was it. Nothing significant in the picture at a glance, and I could easily have scrolled past had three letters not caught my eye:
R.I.P.
I gulped, and went to his page, thinking it was likely a joke from a mate of his, but aware of the nagging feeling in the back of my head that this could be more. Another picture. Another eulogy. I shambled into my flatmate's room and asked if he'd heard anything from back home about this. We did some digging, and over the course of an hour or two we received confirmation of what we feared. It hit hard.
Now, some of you reading this will know who I'm talking about, and I don't doubt you felt that same punch to the gut as I did. We're never ready for news like that. Everyone's got their demons, but we're never prepared for the demons to win. Over a week I tried to write down some thoughts, some feelings and find some catharsis. It didn't work, and the words I could commit to seemed so woefully inadequate. It's been three and a half years and they still seem so, but here we are.
If I were to travel back in time to talk to an even 21 year old version of myself, I'd find someone with a largely myopic view of mental illness. I remember having a discussion with someone in Spirit or The Academy or whatever it was then/is now that involved me mentioning how I saw suicide as an entirely selfish act. There's people out there with real problems, and you'd hear celebrities talking about depression, as though they have the right to feel sad when they have so much going for them.
"The easy way out."
I knew depression was more than "feeling a little sad". I wasn't entirely clueless, but in imagining talking to this version of myself, this would have to be a major point in our discussion. I'm fortunate enough that I could probably count on the fingers of one hand the number of prolonged lows I have experienced in my life. Even when things have been bad, I've had refuge in other thoughts or pursuits. Yet in those prolonged low spells, it was harder, darker and a more claustrophobic feeling closing in.
I can't claim to know how it feels to suffer depression, or anxiety or any other form of mental anguish or illness. Not really. I can ask a mother how it feels to give birth, and get an idea of how it might be, but until you yank a person through my junk I could only have an abstract picture. Watching a film, not living the life. So, for that reason, I apologise if it comes across as though I'm suggesting I have any idea what the fuck I'm talking about here. I don't.
There are periods where life can be too much. And I don't mean the responsibilities, needs or specific outside fears of life; I mean life in general. Those times when you can't get out because anything, everything and nothing in particular all feel too much. You're stuck in a prison of your own mind, but it passes. You have the keys.
For some people, life is lived in solitary confinement. Complete isolation, and darkness. They know there's a world outside of this black void, but they're starting to forget how it felt to live there. We can visit. We can experience the horror from behind a door and tell them we're there for them. Maybe they can describe their confinement, and we can sympathise and console them from the other side of that door, but we're not in there with them. And in the absence of light, they themselves might not even know what they're living with in there. They can't see where the walls are. We get to go home. And maybe one day, if they're lucky, so will they. They know where the exit is, but they're getting tired of waiting for the key to open it. And then there's this other door. They don't know what's on the other side of it, but something tells them it's not good. It's not the exit to the place they want to go, and they know that it will lock behind them if they go through. How long do they stay in that dark room before going through that other door becomes a better option than staying here and hoping?
This might not be how it is for everyone, and, like I said, I can only fool myself into thinking I have any inkling of how it feels to live with mental illness. And so, I can only apologise if my interpretation is offensively wide of the mark.
I know a good number of people who suffer with depression and myriad other mental illnesses, and I've barely noticed how we've grown in our ability to speak about these matters. Yet, we have. The taboo is not broken, but it's getting there.
A person I know once told me of a time (roughly 15 years ago) when they, as a teenager, went to a doctor to discuss their suspicions that they may be dealing with depression.
"No, you just have an artistic temperament."
I've known a person who was sent home from hospital the night after a suicide attempt, despite having earnestly stated that, if left alone, they would try again. They tried again that night, and ended up back in that same hospital.
I've known a person who, after some really bad news, began to cry just a few silent tears before chiding themselves aloud because "crying is a sign of weakness".
Yet, I've also known a person who, when I was going through a hard time a few years back, reached out to me. They told that if I needed any counselling to help me through it, they would pay for me to go see someone who had been helping them through some stuff too. If you're reading this, you might not even remember that moment, but it helped and for that I thank you.
I know incredibly brave people- some who suffer in silence, and others who openly disclose and discuss the battles they face. I can't tell you what you need, and I might not be able to help, but I hope you know that there is help out there. If you need to talk to someone, anyone, then please do. It's easier to speak than to take back those things that remained unsaid. I know that speaking is not always what everyone needs, and so I say to seek comfort in whatever it may be that offers you hope or help.
I've spoken to a few friends in the last year alone who've spoken to counsellors to work through dark times in their lives. And I know, for them at least, it was a great benefit.
In Ireland, and elsewhere, mental health funding and treatment is not good enough. It's just fucking not. Too many times we still hear of this serious matter that ravages many in society being brushed aside. Not seeing the problem does not mean it does not exist. It's not the one you see that gets you.
I don't know that there was one incident or defining moment that made me realise that depression was not as straightforward as I'd believed. Nor was suicide some sort of cowardly act. It was sadly something that was beyond control, and well beyond my understanding. There are no barriers, borders or safe spaces to prevent the onset of such conditions. It's not as though it's a choice. I suspect I just grew up, and was fortunate enough to be surrounded by people with a greater understanding of things than I did.
This has to change. It might not seem like it, but talking about it is helping. So let's keep talking about it.
Remember that, whatever else, you don't have to be "happy" for anyone else though. Nobody's happy. Just strive to be how you need to be to get by. And if you need to talk to someone, talk to someone. Talk to a professional, talk to a friend, talk to me. Please, just talk to someone. We'll listen.
No comments:
Post a Comment