Thoughts on R U OK? Day

I remember when I got help. It was this time in 2009. I returned home from the United States without any money to my name, no job, no prospects and seemingly, no future. The script I’d written myself had run out of pages. I simply had no compulsion to write anything more.

The usual cliché is that depression is that of the “black dog;” – to me, a black dog conjures an image of "man’s best friend" colored a dark shade. The black dog, at least to me, has no snarl and has no bite – it is not a Cerberus that stalks your waking hours. To me, depression lies at the core of one’s very soul. It felt as if there was a wounded being inside of me, screaming and writhing in agony, scratching at my eyes to escape. But it knew as well as me that once it had claimed its freedom, the harsh light of day would cause it to expire.

Thus lies in the paradox of this illness – it’s not a disease of the brain; it’s a syndrome of the mind. Once someone feels so inured with depression, the world turns gray. Once embedded within every thought and every inference, depression is your way of life. You remain convinced that this is the only way; you cannot remember how it was before or even if there was a before. Even your memories are tinctured with sadness and loss. Bright moments are dulled; duller moments are simply charred away and taste like ash in your mouth.

You can lie for hours on the couch and let images and sounds flash by. But you take nothing in. Agony rings hollow. You can surround yourself with loved ones and feel that their concern is merely cloying and insincere. Their touches feel like sharp, icy scratches across your skin. A negation swirls around inside and people feel at unease – it’s almost as if they can sense your void of life energy and shy from it lest it snatches their own from under them.

So today is “R U OK?” day, where we are encouraged to ask our friends and loved ones if they are feeling well of mind. Perhaps some of them will confuse process with content and provide a lengthy, immaterial list of gripes that has nothing to do with their own state of mind. To me, when I was lying prone and waiting for an ending, I didn’t want someone to ask me if I was okay. What I felt I needed is for someone to say I was okay – as a worthwhile person. The question, R U OK? should be met with the most precious answer that springs direct from the well of the mind and body – “yes, I am.” It should be felt with the wholeness of your being and expressed with the spark of life renewed. The hard task is this – once you feel you are not, one must labor, struggle and build a feeling that yes – you are. In time, you’ll realize we all are and we all can be.

Together, we can write pages anew in the books of our lives.

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http://twitter.com/crushtor

Incredible Lateness of Being

Living in an uncertain world, we can also face the prospect of time being not only our keeper but our cruel and merciless dictator. A missed appointment, careless mistake and unsent missive can ruin the journey of a life, if we let it. We can move on and take it in a mechanical stride or feel it burn hot inside us and let the emotion well up, cooling as unspent and leaden. Acknowledging the ebb and flow of uncertain time can bring great joy but also a sense of longing and despair.

But then we can create worlds of words that bear no connection to reality. We idealize and are frequently disappointed when the tree bears fruit and despite the sweetness, we taste only bitterness. What seems good at one time can sometimes become ill fitting as time marches on. Sometimes the mismatch of the old map with the new territory aches like being boxed in against our will.

But the constraints are everywhere and freeing ourselves from them can be a Herculean struggle. If we believe that the cause is just, the love is pure or the loss is greater from inaction than from standing up to claim what is ours, then we can overcome it. If we never get what we want, at least we can proudly say that we tried. Even if the timing is off.

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http://twitter.com/crushtor

Something Better To Do

On Facebook, there are many fan pages dedicated to a variety of subjects and, well, bullshit. Some of them range from pages celebrating rock stars, actors and authors - others are merely novelties and bullshit like "I called Princess Peach a slut when playing Mario Kart" or "Water tastes good when there's nothing else to drink." Some fan pages have even less of a reason to exist than the aforementioned - and these are the pages such as "Women should be in the kitchen" and the countless variations on that theme.

Leaving the humor aspect aside, I find them offensive. Not because I believe them to be degrading to women (which they obviously are on one level) because I find them degrading to men.

In the 2nd decade of the 21st century, the tools for making oneself independent are abundant, especially in the western world. In my profession, I can report from wherever, whenever and however I choose. To posit that me as a man should be mothered from cradle to grave is ludicrous and highly disturbing. Having a servile, submissive wife endlessly cooking food and cleaning up after us would not do us, as men, any favors. We would be reduced to boys, dependent on a woman for all our needs. While spite-filled frustrated men may believe having such a doting lackey that he can stick his penis into would be a dream come true, I would think it was an absolute nightmare.

By eliminating the requirement to fulfill our own needs, it would breed inaction and laziness. Ambition would falter and our masculine power and agency would be eroded. By subordinating our basic needs to a woman, we put ourselves in a position of dependence. While on a superficial level it would seem that the man dominates the woman in this situation, on a deeper, psychological and emotional level, the man gives up his masculinity in the process. If a man wants to truly exercise his masculine power he would see the complimentary nature of the sexes in a healthy way instead of a maladaptive child-parent dynamic. Its like men saying to women "I am helpless, please take care of me as if I were a baby."

I'll make my own fucking sandwich, thank you very much.

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http://twitter.com/crushtor