I am one of the bajillions of people who suffers from bouts of depression. Many people are surprised by this because I'm pretty good at putting on a happy face so as not to concern or bring down others. And while I have a great propensity to happiness, I'm also quite good at being sad. Yep, from time to time old man sorrow knocks on my door, and for reasons I can't explain, I not only let him in, but I nourish him, giving him free room and board. He makes himself right at home, real cozy-like. And then darkness falls. That fugly darkness fills my house and I walk around in it, lie down in it, cloaked in pitiful, pitiful sorrow. I will admit there have been times I have sat crying in the darkness for hours on end, without really knowing why. It's pretty pathetic, really. One of the main reasons I started thegoodinyou is to attempt to thwart this little devil's next scheme to sneak up on me and to blind me of my own goodness and worth and of the beauty inherent in life. But really, it's wrong of me to make my depression into some mean other, into something I don't have control over. I still don't know exactly what I think depression is or what causes it. I know when it's upon me that I am quick to call it something I can't control. No doubt the effect of depression is a physical one, a chemical imbalance, but I am inclined to think that the cause is spiritual in nature. And let's face it, we are each responsible for our own spiritual well-being. I must accept responsibility then for my depression, for I am the one opening wide the door to my own self-pity. I read the following perspective, full of humor and humility, today and wanted to share it, not only for you who may struggle the same, but also, for my future self to read, in case old man sorrow comes a knockin'.
All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously."
At the time Switters had disputed her assertion. Even at seventeen, he was aware that depression could have chemical causes.
"The key word here is roots," Maestra had countered. "The roots of depression. For most people, self-awareness and self-pity blossom simultaneously in early adolescence. It's about that time that we start viewing the world as something other than a whoop-de-doo playground, we start to experience personally how threatening it can be, how cruel and unjust. At the very moment when we become, for the first time, both introspective and socially conscientious, we receive the bad news that the world, by and large, doesn't give a rat's ass. Even an old tomato like me can recall how painful, scary, and disillusioning that realization was. So, there's a tendency, then, to slip into rage and self-pity, which if indulged, can fester into bouts of depression."
"Yeah but Maestra - "
"Don't interrupt. Now, unless someone stronger and wiser - a friend, a parent, a novelist, filmmaker, teacher, or musician - can josh us out of it, can elevate us and show us how petty and pompous and monumentally useless it is to take ourselves so seriously, then depression can become a habit, which, in turn, can produce a neurological imprint. Are you with me? Gradually, our brain chemistry becomes conditioned to react to negative stimuli in a particular, predictable way. One thing'll go wrong and it'll automatically switch on its blender and mix us that black cocktail, the ol' doomsday daiquiri, and before we know it, we're soused to the gills from the inside out. Once depression has become electrochemically integrated, it can be extremely difficult to philosophically or psychologically override it; by then it's playing by physical rules, a whole different ball game. That's why Switters my dearest, every time you've shown signs of feeling sorry for yourself, I've played my blues records really loud or read to you from The Horse's Mouth. And that's why when you've exhibited the slightest tendency toward self-importance, I've reminded you that you and me - you and I: excuse me - may be every bit as important as the President or the pope or the biggest prime-time icon in Hollywood, but none of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let's not get carried away with ourselves. Preventive medicine, boy. It's preventive medicine."
"But what about self-esteem?"
"Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory."
At the time Switters had disputed her assertion. Even at seventeen, he was aware that depression could have chemical causes.
"The key word here is roots," Maestra had countered. "The roots of depression. For most people, self-awareness and self-pity blossom simultaneously in early adolescence. It's about that time that we start viewing the world as something other than a whoop-de-doo playground, we start to experience personally how threatening it can be, how cruel and unjust. At the very moment when we become, for the first time, both introspective and socially conscientious, we receive the bad news that the world, by and large, doesn't give a rat's ass. Even an old tomato like me can recall how painful, scary, and disillusioning that realization was. So, there's a tendency, then, to slip into rage and self-pity, which if indulged, can fester into bouts of depression."
"Yeah but Maestra - "
"Don't interrupt. Now, unless someone stronger and wiser - a friend, a parent, a novelist, filmmaker, teacher, or musician - can josh us out of it, can elevate us and show us how petty and pompous and monumentally useless it is to take ourselves so seriously, then depression can become a habit, which, in turn, can produce a neurological imprint. Are you with me? Gradually, our brain chemistry becomes conditioned to react to negative stimuli in a particular, predictable way. One thing'll go wrong and it'll automatically switch on its blender and mix us that black cocktail, the ol' doomsday daiquiri, and before we know it, we're soused to the gills from the inside out. Once depression has become electrochemically integrated, it can be extremely difficult to philosophically or psychologically override it; by then it's playing by physical rules, a whole different ball game. That's why Switters my dearest, every time you've shown signs of feeling sorry for yourself, I've played my blues records really loud or read to you from The Horse's Mouth. And that's why when you've exhibited the slightest tendency toward self-importance, I've reminded you that you and me - you and I: excuse me - may be every bit as important as the President or the pope or the biggest prime-time icon in Hollywood, but none of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let's not get carried away with ourselves. Preventive medicine, boy. It's preventive medicine."
"But what about self-esteem?"
"Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory."
-Tom Robbins, from Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates
So, I hope you don't mind my using this blog as a sort of preventative medicine and as a reminder of who I am in the light. This blog is, in part, my way of reminding myself: Your cup is full, fool!! Now, God forbid I should fall again into that pity pit of despair. But, just in case I do, I will have this entry to look back on, to remind myself that I am a mere pimple on the ass-end of creation, to remind myself:
And after I do, I'm sure I'll feel much better.
"Hold on to what you believe in the light
when the darkness has robbed you of all your sight."
-Mumford & Sons lyrics
Wanna hear that song?
Okay!
The rest of the lyrics are not entirely pertinent to this post,
but still, it's a good song:
2 comments:
I sometimes let old man sorrow be a roommate in my house is well. Not sure why really, but I am so glad to read this post. And I think anything you can do, write, post, say to help kick old man sorrow to the curb is excellent!
I really like this part:
Heh! Self-esteem is for sissies. Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it. That way lies grace - and maybe even glory.
I think that is the best thing I've read in a while.
Thank you for this post.
I meant as well.
Also, I love that song, I forgot to say that.
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