Thursday, March 28, 2019

Into the Void

Some people hear all this quiet and try to fill it up with themselves. Clanging, shouting, stomping until the sound of something conscious echoes back from distant cliffs or gets swallowed by the the trees or the waves or the general void.

Futile. Folly. Human.

Hard to be quiet. Alone. With only intrusive thoughts to keep you company. Fears, disquiets, insecurities, all held at bay by chaos and noise and a busy kind of hubbub suddenly free of a downward pressure, bubbling to the surface until they threaten to boil over.

Panic! Panic. Shout, scream, stomp. Until you realize you have survived and the feelings that momentarily threatened to drown you have ebbed and the thoughts, unwanted and unloved, did not linger, having not made quite the impression they thought they would. Sometimes your unwanted thoughts leave out of pure embarrassment.

How silly of me. Terribly sorry. I'll show myself out.

The panic in those still moments though. That the thoughts and feelings you run from are too big too much too much. Followed by a distinct anti-climax. Oh was that all? Uncomfortable yes, but not The End. Feelings in the rearview mirror may be more manageable than they appear.

Maybe you lost your composure for a hot minute. Maybe you survived that too.

If a man cries alone in a forest, does he make a sound? Who cares. Feelings gotta feel. Scream, shout, stomp. This time not to drown the noise but to get it out. Let it out. Everything bound up in your nerves from behind your eyes to the tips of your fingers. Tensions stored carefully, lovingly until, absent outside pressure, released in a great wave. At last. At least.

Until all that is left is the quiet. And the last echoes of you fading away until all that is left is you. Yourself. No stories, just breathing. No worries, just starlight. No thoughts of particular importance. Just you. Only you. No further qualification necessary. End of report.

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

Russian Dolls

"And now I'm stuck with a body that is broken, in a world that is literally falling apart, and a mind that wants to kill me."

"Sweetheart, where is that gorgeous piece of you fighting to be part of this world?"

It is a golden age of sympathetic dramas about depression and I am here for it. The quotes above are from the penultimate episode of Russian Doll, where Alan and Nadia are having their quiet moments of truth before the finale upsets the apple cart again, and those two conversations happen at roughly the same time and they both really spoke to me. In one, Alan is finally admitting he's been feeling broken and had been pulling away for a long time, well before his girlfriend called it off. And in the other Ruth is talking to her ward Nadia, remembering how hard she fought to live and survive the mental illness of her mother and wondering where that fight is now.

They are both echoes of the same kind of depression and detachment and you really get the sense that the author(s) have been through the shit. Sure, on some level it's unsurprising that in a country where rates of suicide, drug use, and depression are steadily climbing, that we're suddenly flooded with excellent dramas with real and frank depictions of depression and the societal detachment that comes with it. It's also beautiful. People who have been through the shit and survived sending back lifelines to those who may be struggling.

Cynically, I'm tempted to assume that "depressed" is just another lucrative marketing demographic, and entertainment media have consequently risen to the task of monetizing our misery. But that cynicism would be more compelling if the writers of many of these shows weren't clearly speaking with love to the intended audience and writing story arcs clearly intended to specifically break through cynicism and nudge people forward.

Respect for the struggle. May you all find your way to breaking free.