Aaaaand, we're back. I think.
When depression gives you lemons, you just have to fucking live with lemons for a while.
I’ve been writing again. Writing this sort of thing, I mean. Opinion. Commentary. And while I’ve been writing (about the Atlanta killings, the minimum wage and other things), I’ve been pondering how to explain or apologise for my absence over the last few weeks. Do you just say: “Sorry, I’ve had the Big Sad, anyway here’s a thing I wrote”? Feels inadequate considering you went to the trouble of signing up for this and that I also ask people to buy me a beer occasionally. But, then, going into a long explanation of my struggle with depression as an intro to a piece about violent misogyny and racial hate doesn’t just seem self-indulgent, but also insensitive.
So I thought I’d send you a quick note to tell you where I’ve been.
“You were gone?” the comedy response in my head says?
Quite.
The advice I always give to overthinking friends is: “They’re not thinking badly of you. They’re not thinking of you at all.” I know. I missed my calling as a counsellor. A priest. But it’s true. I’m worried people are thinking I’m an unreliable scumbag for not writing a comment piece every week for my subscribers. My subscribers have probably not noticed. Depression doesn’t just make both of these scenarios feel stressful and hurtful. It makes them occupy my mind at the same time. That, to use a word my counsellor studiously avoids, is crazy. But there it is.
So I write this with a mixture of feeling that it is both unnecessary and inadequate. Good times. But during a recent chat with a friend of mine who has been struggling with mental health stuff he wasn’t used to, I realised that sometimes it’s just nice to know you’re not alone. And that, while I don’t have a ‘duty’ to talk about my depression to help fight the stigma and make people realise that many of us struggle, it’s probably a good thing to do.
This was not my first time. I am used to, if not built for, depression. I’ve had periods of work stress and personal loss when I’ve measured the time between bouts of crying for no reason in hours rather than days. And my baseline is to still measure it in weeks. A good time is months without a great sadness hitting me. I’ve been this way since my early teens and have come to think of it as just a part of who I am. I have a huge capacity for joy and pleasure and wonder, so I don’t think it’s a bad way to be, but I am working on ways to make these times less frequent, shorter and less intense. And I worry about people who are not used to this stuff having to face it.
Generally (and until recently), it never affected my work. And I’m not sure that is a good thing. Even during hour-measure periods, I’d wipe my face, walk into the office and mostly be fine through meetings, waiting to cry until I hit the bathroom (that’s why it’s called a water closet) or went home for lunch, where I would find solace in a large cake while crying (that’s why they are called tiers).
I used to think that the fact I’d not missed work because of depression made me strong, some kind of hero. Like it was a sign I had mastered my depression. Keeping it like a pet (have you seen The Babadook, by the way? What a phenomenal take on living with the big D), thinking of myself as masterful and resilient, when really I was just afraid of looking weak. I’m not going to be too hard on myself and say this kind of thinking made me a dick, but in a very real sense I was, in fact, being a dick. When I finally did take time off work for mental health (stress, not the Sad), I felt guilty, weak, selfish and, ultimately, better.
Capitalism values human beings in terms of their usefulness, and nothing else. We all talk about ‘being productive’ as one of the highest values. We find our identity in our work so much that when we lose a job we lose more than income — our entire psychic landscape experiences an earthquake, a tsunami, and we are left naked and alone and not sure who we are. The sad thing is, we could have avoided feeling this way by heeding the wisdom of the great sage of the 20th century when he said: “I want to be a human being not a human doing. Babobeh-bopbopahdop-babababa…”
Taking time off work was an exception for me (partly because Capitalism, partly because Dick), so now that I’m on a kind of sabbatical and focusing on writing, and the causes of my former stress have been removed, I thought I would be back on that Sadness As Obedient Pet life. I was wrong.
For about two weeks or more after the last issue of Beer Christianity (the newsletter), I found myself crying a lot for no reason. Or, often, for some reason, but nothing that warranted the Big Sad it was giving me. I wasn’t crying all the time. I had periods of being fine and happy and even days of it. But I couldn’t write.
Actually that’s not true. I could for a writing course I was doing. I just couldn’t write opinion. I have no idea if that’s because of the anxiety involved in saying things that people might disagree with (made worse by the twin cesspools of Left and Right that are Twitter and Facebook comment sections) or something else. But every idea I had felt either anodyne or terrifying and I found myself wanting to have written but unable to face writing. I felt paralysed by what I might write about, how I would structure the mails, what would be boring and self-indulgent, whether my take was too hot or lukewarm, and what the fucking point of everything and anything actually was. Ugh.
And now I feel better. Sort of. Probably. And that I can write. Probably. (Do you ever get superstitious about your own mental health, particularly around pronouncing yourself well? Like: Sssshhhh! It will hear you!). So I’ll [increasingly high-pitched and unsure voice] be sending out something soon?[voice ends]
So, thanks for reading. And being patient if that’s what you were being. And if you’re feeling the Sad or the Fear, and especially if you’re not used to it:
It gets better. It gets less intense, less all-consuming and it doesn’t last forever, even though it feels it might. It can’t. You’re going to be okay. Even though it fucking sucks right now. Nobody thinks you’re weak. More people love you than you think and more people know what you’re going through than you ever imagined. This is a natural thing to be feeling now especially, as the world is so harsh. But it’s also a normal thing and there are ways to get out of it. Hold on. God loves you, even though it doesn’t seem obvious right now. It gets better. I promise.
What has helped me is talking to people. Counselling. Helping a friend edit a book, doing some light communications consultancy without pressure. Doing things that make me feel good at something. Walking. Taking a shower. As well as giving myself permission not to do things (like any of these things, like write) if I don’t want to. Just for a bit.
Which sucks for my millions of readers pacing their rooms anxiously, waiting for my latest take on how they should think. And also for those sitting narrow-eyed, stroking white cats and sneering at my weakness. Or, you know, none of that.
So basically I just wanted to say sorry for the briefish absence. I just wanted to explain. I’ll be back soon. If there’s anything you’d like me to address, comment on or answer, feel free to get in touch in one of the ways below.
Hope you’re doing okay.
Jonty
On the Podcast
Richard Rohr
Everyone’s favourite Franciscan talks to Jonty circa 2012 and ignores his fangirling long enough to drop some wisdom about the second half of life. Then Laura, Malky and Jonty get into it about that, whether God changes and what our take on nuclear weapons should be. It’s a good episode.
You can find the Beer Christianity Richard Rohr episode here or on Spotify, Apple podcasts or wherever you get your podcasts by searching for Beer Christianity. Take a listen and please share!
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Anyway
Thanks for reading, for listening and for being interested!