“You and dad are both exactly the same-moping about in your pants like you’re superior to everyone. You’re both selfish, arrogant, pretentious mad-arses.”
“It’s pathetic! Dad tried to kill himself, you idiot!
Well, I didn’t get to see if my dad was a self-centered, conceited, pretentious lunatic who loved sulking in his pajama bottoms while brandishing his air of superiority.
He didn’t attempt to succumb to his pretend sadness either. Unfortunately, he was taken away by a traitorous disease a few months after I turned 2.
Although the fiery words resonated with me, they weren’t intended for my late father or myself. That’s from a heart-wrenching confrontation between two eccentric siblings in an episode of Flowers — my favorite show which used to be on Netflix.
If melancholic comedies revolving around mental illness interest you, you’d love this brilliant show.
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According to WHO, there’s approximately 280 million people of all ages suffering from depression as of December 2023.
With the ongoing wars in many parts of the world, the displacement of millions of victims due to these conflicts, the rising cost of basic necessities, the looming threat of inflation, and many other major issues, it won’t be surprising if the numbers have increased significantly.
Growing up in the 80’s, in a country where the majority weren’t particularly concerned about the state of their mental health and were more worried about when the next meal would be or if there would be any, sadness was as normal as the rising of the sun early in the morning and its setting later in the day.
When you’re not your most cheerful self, you go out and play hide and seek with your friends, or you go gather firewoods in the mountains.
The term depression didn’t exist. We’ve been known as happy people — singing,dancing, and joking even about the crippling calamities devastating the country year after year.
You can still see half grins on faces whilst in the midst of adversity.We manage to snigger despite living a life of destitution. We have no objection to glorifying suffering and abject poverty.
We tend to romanticize resilience.
I grew up thinking that the only mentally ill people were the ones wearing filthy raggedy clothes meandering all day in the streets — the ones talking incoherently, laughing loudly, or swearing profusely at nobody in particular.
We were told these folks got dropped headfirst when they were babies. It could also be that their pregnant mama kicked a termite mound where an unseen holy dwarf was living. The mama didn’t say sorry, so she was given a special child as punishment. And boy, did I believe that.
Avoid stepping on an anthill, pregnant ladies! Well, when you accidentally do, apologize por favor!
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I wasn’t the jolliest kid. When I was around 5 or 6, my mama said that I used to ask her for some pesos to rent Komiks. Money wasn’t easy to come by, but since it was the only thing I enjoyed, she didn’t budge about giving me a few centavos.
She said I spent hours immersed in those colorful booklets, mostly stories that weren’t even age-appropriate.
Although they let me be, my pre-teen Komiks addiction was a source of laughter. Why? Well, I couldn’t read at all at that time.
I only started learning how to read when I was about ten, probably out of fear for my strict teacher who had the habit of disciplining kids with her thick bamboo stick.
I wasn’t much of a talker either and preferred being by myself. My mama said I was a loner. There were countless nights when I couldn’t sleep at all. My mama used to say, “pray and sleep will come.”
She also said I preferred silence and isolation.
You always had that look of both calm and maybe anger or indifference. I was thinking you were either sad about your dad’s early demise or angry at how life was going then. You often seemed detached and loved brooding over books and magazines.
As much as I’ve portrayed a totally different persona as I’ve grown older, I have had bouts of severe depression. Leaving my family at a young age and living by myself for decades has made it easy to keep it a secret.
Aside from one trusted confidante, nobody else knew that there had been an ongoing war with sadness.
From time to time, this army of gloom attacks, and any reason to exist vanishes during those moments.
You get suddenly consumed by this inexplicable feeling of hopelessness. You get thrown in a hole of utmost despair, and no amount of weeping and wailing can pull you out of it. You cannot even do those things.
Loneliness deprives you of everything. It’s like an invisible ravenous parasite that slowly and painfully devours your energy and decapitates the last rays of joy and sunlight in your life.
The gripping anguish is paralyzing.
“Depression is a tough, grueling battle, and winning over it makes me feel triumphant, alive.”
Although I recognize that I am not the proper authority to advise on mental health issues, I’d like to share my story and the things I had to unlearn and learn to beat depression.
Obsolete Mental Health Beliefs
You don’t have the right to be sad.
So, you’re sad? Everybody gets sad. Get over it.You have food on the table, you have a roof over your head, you aren’t begging on the streets or living in a cardboard box under an overpass. Cheer up!
That’s what most people used to say. Were people tougher back then? Did they see more sunrises than sunsets?
Were they better at accepting life’s hard facts? Or were they just unaware of mental health issues- the symptoms and the implications?
Four decades ago was a completely different era. It was as if one only had the right to be sad when:
a) A parent, a relative, or a dearly beloved, passes away. b)Food is non-existent, and the next meal could only happen while dreaming in one’s sleep. c)You live in a cardboard box under a bridge or an overpass.
If the reason for your malaise didn’t fall in any of these three categories, you’re just a pretentious person.
You’re building a mountain out of a molehill. You’re acting up for no reason. You’re an ungrateful, overly sensitive faker.
I used to feel so guilty about my sadness. Although I didn’t live in a mansion getting attended to by servants, it wasn’t terribly bad.
Where did I get this audacity to be unbelievably and unreasonably sad?
“It’s not a right. It’s not something that you have to justify. It is an illness.”
Consulting a psychiatrist or a psychologist is only for the rich and the famous.
Your salary can barely cover your family’s expenses. Don’t waste money going to these money grabbing fake doctors. What are you, a celebrity?
Psychiatrists and psychologists are trained medical professionals that diagnose and treat mental and emotional disorders. Their only difference is that psychologists offer counseling and therapy.
Nowadays, there are plenty of mental health services, including assessments and therapies that are free. 24/7 helplines in every country cater to the ones with vast wealth and anyone experiencing mental or emotional distress.
Anyone in their right mind would immediately consult a healthcare professional the moment symptoms appear or get worse. Mental problems shouldn’t be any different.
Every medical issue can be costly, but this can be mitigated if the disease is diagnosed and treated at its earliest stage.
“This ignorant take on mental health professionals doesn’t have a place in this day and age. It is your health and well-being. Talk to somebody who can help you regardless of your financial status.”
Alcohol is the answer. It will make you happy and forget about your problems.
Drink up! Whatever it it that’s bugging you will disappear. You just gotta loosen up.
I love my drinks, but I know that whatever gladness it brings is temporary. Alcohol consumption does lower anxiety and inhibitions; explains the existence of countless embarrassing photos and videos.
It’s all fun while you’re gulping down unlimited shots of tequila, but what happens when its merry spirit dissipates?
Alcohol is not an antidepressant but rather the opposite. It exacerbates depression; that’s why the probability of alcoholics committing suicide is very high.
“Ditch the intoxicants. Talk to a mental health professional. Get diagnosed and then treated.”
It’s all in the head. It’s not real.
You just need to be stronger mentally. Just snap out of it. It’s all in the mind. You can do it. Just snap out of it. You can do it.
The “experts” think one can magically snap out of depression. Just like any other disease, no, no one can just shazam out of it. One needs to be properly checked by professionals to ascertain their condition and to cure them eventually.
“Accept the fact that you require psychiatric assistance. You’re not well and definitely in need of medical help. That’s your reality.”
Shameful condition.
What will people say? It’s shameful.What will people think of me?
“Such immaturity shouldn’t be condoned, but I was young and didn’t know any better. I’m grateful that I finally realized how foolish it was to put so much importance on people’s useless opinions about me.”
…
It is a long, continuing fight. Warring with your own thoughts, and muting your feelings of doom and gloom can be burdensome.
However, unlearning obsolete beliefs about mental health issues could be one of our best weapons in combating sadness and madness.
I will continue fostering positivity and practicing mindfulness as I learn more about mental strength and wellness.
As mentioned in David Mitchell’s novel, Cloud Atlas;
“You say you’re ‘depressed’ — all i see is resilience. You are allowed to feel messed up and inside out. It doesn’t mean you’re defective — it just means you’re human.”
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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