Well. That’s Depressing.
As someone who is morbidly aware of my struggle with anxiety, you’d think that I’d be meticulous about what I put in my brain. My mental panic gauge is always in the red, so it would make sense that I pull back on the throttle a bit with the things that I can control, right? I have enough adrenaline, that’s why I don’t spend my leisure time ghost hunting or skydiving. However, I also don’t spend it meditating with cucumber slices over my eyes and a recording of Monk’s chanting through my Bluetooth speaker. I like to wind down at night with some good old True Crime. Don’t worry, I balance it out. I light a candle and sip some lavender tea while I look at brutal crime scenes and find out that the perpetrator was never caught. Does it stress me out? No. Not for either of the reasons you would assume. First of all, I’m not the least bit worried about being murdered. Because of my anxious tendencies, I am always acutely aware of my surroundings and my front door is in the hallway of a locked building, not open to the outside. Additionally, I don’t really care if I get murdered. I’d care if they attacked me and didn’t finish the job. I don’t want to be stabbed lacklusterly and slowly bleed to death while I wait for campus PD to catch the guys spray painting dicks on the side of the biology building and then follow the blood trail up to my bedroom. It also doesn’t scare me that some cases go cold. I love justice, but I also understand the justice system. With most “unsolved” cases, there is a clear suspect in mind. Someone who was in the right (wrong) place at the right (wrong) time, had the right (wrong) relationship with the victim and had a long list of right (wrong) motives. However, if there is no DNA, not witnesses, and no palpable evidence, they can’t charge the person. Any District Attorney will tell you that they can’t go to court on a capitol murder case with only circumstantial evidence. Its frustrating when a murderer goes free, but it’s also a reminder that circumstances don’t always dictate the state of someone’s wellbeing.
In a recent interview with Harper’s Bazaar, the comedian/actress/writer Awkwafina opened up about her mental health struggle. “Fame is not a cure for depression,” she admitted, “its just not.” In reference to the year when she starred in two blockbuster movies and was given the go-ahead on her own tv show, she says she felt empty. It wasn’t the “burden” of being rich and famous that people with clout and money like to talk about, she had only been famous for 20 minutes or so. The point she was trying to stress is that depression doesn’t go away just because your lifestyle improves. Depression lives within you and can rear its ugly head anytime it feels compelled. 2018 was a rough year (until 2020 came along) because we lost Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade to suicide one right after the other. The world seemed mystified that two people who seemingly had everything would choose to cut their lives short, and on purpose. Anyone who suffers from depression, however, was saddened, but not surprised.
I don’t like to reference or compare celebrities when talking about substance abuse because, my God, its all of them. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, its too easy. However, when talking about depression, it almost seems necessary to reach for the most extreme example because that feels like the only way to get people to pay attention. I often wonder how many celebrity deaths were considered overdoses but were actually suicides. Substance abuse, depression, and suicide all go together, or didn’t you know…? Even if drugs were the culprit, its still suicide. That’s what addiction is, a slow, meticulous suicide brought on by a feeling of worthlessness and powerlessness. Chris Farley, for instance- people want to think that his death was an accident. He was a happy guy, he made people laugh. He was a goof. He had good friends, a good life, and recreational drugs were a part of that. When it comes to a death like his, “accidental overdose” isn’t a cause of death for the deceased, it’s a safety net for the spectators. No one wants to believe that some like him could have a monster like suicidal depression living inside them. If it could happen to him, it could happen to anyone.
My Grandfather had a “Marilyn” room in his house. His obsession wasn’t as deep as it looked- he was a fan and one friend bought him a trinket, another friend bought him a poster, and the collection grew and grew until it took over nearly half of his dwelling. Because of that, her face was something that I was exposed to quite a bit as a child. I thought she was beautiful. I thought her beauty was raw, and honest. Along with the figurines, movie posters, and assorted memorabilia, there was a collection of photographs. Some were posed, but a lot of her pictures were candid. There was the one of her in the white dress over the air vent, obviously. There was also one of her at the USO show- her purple dress against a sea of camouflage, blonde curls bouncing as if there weren’t an ounce of hairspray holding them together, her feet slipping slightly off the sides of her gold sandals, but she didn’t seem to mind. She was radiant, and full of life. Based on the pictures, that’s how she always was. So, when she died young, the world was shaken. The easy explanation was, whatever she was on, she “took too much.” The harsh truth is that this world destroyed her.
I get really sick of suicide happening, either in the public eye or in the suburbs, and people’s reaction continuing to be, “I just don’t understand.” That’s not good enough. Let’s endeavor to understand because we have an epidemic. Just like in a court of law, circumstantial evidence is not enough to label someone “guilty” or “not guilty,” “happy” or “mortally depressed.” Even worse, when the evidence is more than circumstantial, when someone admits that they need help, society reacts in one of two ways: accuse them of being dramatic and/or lying. Or, lock them away in an institution where, if they weren’t suicidal before, after 10 days of wearing foam hand covers and using a rubber hair brush, they will be.
I’m not using humor to make light of the situation, I’m using humor to point out the painfully obvious. It’s a tool that us depressed addicts use to talk through the gut-wrenching, unthinkable horrors that we’ve experienced and/or caused due to our behavior. Laughing through painful subjects is a healthy alternative to avoiding painful subjects. I personally don’t care if some laughs through it or sobs through it, as long as they tell someone that they are not ok. People are less likely to turn to suicide when they have an outlet for their depression. People are less likely to turn to drugs or alcohol when they are believed about their trauma. People don’t need to scream-cry into the abyss when they are being heard down here on planet earth. What I never saw in my Grandfather’s “Marilyn” room were pictures of her in tears. There were no portraits of her collapsed on the bedroom floor, wailing into her expensive carpet. There were no video reels of her smashing up amphetamines, sweeping them into a glass of red wine, swallowing it down and violently shaking her face into a smile before going on stage.
When it comes to depression, what the world sees as someone’s circumstances, and the reality of their mental state can be entirely different. Obviously, there is nothing we can do to resolve the existence of depression right here, right now. We can stop being mystified when someone with a “perfect life” turns to drugs, is unable to get out of bed, or commits suicide. There is nothing mystifying about it. It keeps happening and depression is the reason. Mystery solved. The least we can do as a society is to stop perpetuating the expectation that people who are happy on the outside can’t have a storm welling up on the inside. When someone you care about is distancing themselves or acting out, don’t assume it’s some new character flaw and blow it off. Assume that the person you love is struggling with something and be supportive to the point of being obnoxious. Depression only drags their victims in one direction, unless someone is helping to pull them back the other way.
