A snippet of what happens to me in this headspace.
I’m crying, but not because there’s really anything or anyone I’m crying about, other than me—it’s me. I cry because it’s as though I’m not feeling anything or not feeling the right way or feeling how I think I should feel. I’m not crying because I’m sad about something or mad about something, I’m crying because I don’t even know how I feel or how to scrounge up the feelings and thoughts to determine my place as a human. I even try to think about upsetting things, disastrous things, about what it means to be human. At times, I feel as though I’ve lost my humanity.
Sometimes I can find and regain my humanity. Writing helps.
This headspace doesn’t really make sense to me. I don’t exactly know where it comes from. And that drives me mad.
This article is a jumbled mishmash of thoughts, but isn’t that how all of our thoughts are within our brain really?
When I am immersed in “this,” it often becomes difficult to be interested in what people are discussing or laughing about or what they care about. I have trouble understanding “why.” Why don’t I think this is funny, why are they thinking this is interesting? Why don’t I feel what they feel?
Often in this state, I only care about the necessities, and I only bother myself with what feels extraordinarily important and pressing. I want to address homelessness, hunger, purpose, finding jobs for those who need them, love and community. I want to talk about the heavy issues, the things which feel like the only things that matter, and I often do feel that those are topics we should discuss on a regular basis. I feel like certain things we worry and care about and spend our time on are frivolous, unnecessary and sometimes selfish. (Perhaps this is the depression speaking? Maybe not.)
Sometimes I like myself in these moods. It feels real, raw and unkempt. Sometimes it moves from a lack of feeling, to feeling absolutely everything to the most grand extent, but often that includes feeling as though an enormous football field-size brick is atop me. I have some of the highest highs, but with that come some of the darkest lows.
I first saw inklings of this in my six grade year, and I guess I always felt a little different from everyone else, and I think everyone feels like a weirdo to some degree. It wasn’t even necessarily feeling different, it just felt like I was always an imposter. I always thought I didn’t belong. I always felt like I was the weakest person in the room, the most stupid and unintelligent, no matter what my ranking, what accolade I received or compliment I was given.
Writing about this topic—revealing these vulnerabilities—isn’t something that gets you jobs, promotions or awards. In fact, I think it could get you fired or cause an employer to reconsider hiring you. But I think that’s the exact worst thing you could do to someone experiencing depression. You take away their work, one of their purposes, feeling needed and important—you crush them. I think the experience of depression, anxiety, loss of connection and belonging are things which make us human. I’m talking about this because I think so many of us experience something of this nature at some point in our life. But we as a society aren’t really talking about it—we’re not allowing it to be a normal part of conversation, at least not enough.
Over the years—hundreds of years, thousands of years—people have dealt with anxiety, depression, isolation and loneliness. However, I believe the framework of our society now—the way we live our lives, the way we work and communicate and social media—is setting us up for this disconnection and lack of belonging. I think we’re more connected in a great many ways but we’re also more isolated than ever, and we’re losing true community.
I think America is particularly interested in adventuring out alone, going it alone, pull yourself up by your bootstraps, make it happen, fight your own battle, then you will be successful, notable and praised. I’ve certainly played into this, which is why I relish and crave adventuring into the woods alone for days and weeks or taking a solo road trip for months on end. (Let me note that I think it is important to have the ability to be alone and independent, but that is entirely different than intentionally separating yourself from others so as to never have to ask for help and never be vulnerable or uncomfortable.)
Humans are meant to be in community and to accomplish work together.
As I said, this began years ago. I’m 28 now, but I really began to notice it when I was 11 or 12, moving from Signal Mountain to Murfreesboro, Tenn., changing schools the second time in a little over two years. This “thing” I was experiencing grew and changed shape, morphing in various ways, sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes stagnant. I often regret not having spoken about it in earlier days, in high school or early college. I regret not discussing it in multiple relationships, friendships and with family members.
(Just to throw this in: I want to note that this is not an all-encompassing, constant experience. I have a great many wonderful days, and I’m able to step out of this headspace.)
I’ve been able to hide these feelings (or lack thereof), push them away or not acknowledge it when needed. Almost every job I’ve held required constant interaction with people, and I’ve pulled it off. That’s been one of my fortes and what I’ve been complimented on the most over the years—the connections I build with others, the way I interact and communicate and make people feel noticed and needed. I’m not tooting my own horn, but I believe that because I often venture into the depths of my brain and emotions, it helps me search, analyze and understand what others are feeling or experiencing in some way.
I’m certainly not always perfect in feeling what others need, in empathizing, not nearly, but I think grappling with this headspace opens me to more meaningful and present conversations. I relish connecting with people, hearing about their experiences, being inspired by what they’ve done, learning from them and gaining insight into what it means to be human.
At the heart of it, we are the only ones who truly know ourselves and what we need. However, I think sometimes it can take another human being to begin the discovery of this. Understanding exactly what you need can be elusive and mysterious. Sometimes others can see what I need before I ever have an inkling, and I think that’s why we need others and need community. We need to connect and interact even if we don’t want to, even if we think we don’t need to. We need to build bonds, empathy, connection and understanding. We need to listen to one another, be there for one another and realize that we also need to allow people to be there for us.
It’s OK to need someone, it’s OK to need help, it’s OK to need to talk and it’s OK to have a bad day and cry. I think hiding your feelings or pretending you’re always happy and optimistic is not the true path to happiness or transcendence. I know they say ‘fake it till you make it,’ but I think this can drive you mad, in the most unhealthy way. I have driven people away or perhaps, rather, I’ve run away, as I’ve had extreme difficulty in being vulnerable, allowing people to see who I am, what I feel and need and what I grapple with daily.
I’ve kept people at a distance. Oftentimes I don’t want to hang out (or I think I don’t). I don’t respond to texts or it takes me days to do so. Phone calls make me cringe. It all seems daunting and overwhelming. Might I add that I am aware this sounds insane, and I know I’m being irrational. But I still feel what I feel even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s such a confusing cacophony of thoughts.
It’s as though I know I’m “supposed” to be enjoying certain things, I’m supposed to be happy, I’m supposed to feel connected, I’m supposed to want to do something… but I just don’t. I don’t really feel joy, I don’t really feel excited or have a true desire to do something or experience something.
I become exhausted after days of pretending to feel how I think I should feel.
In this headspace, I feel I don’t belong and feel that everyone around me thinks and recognizes this as well.
I become acutely aware when I’m not (or think I’m not) included on something, a joke or story at work, an event.
(Again, I’m not suggesting this is every second of every day, even if I’m right in the middle of a particular funk. I can have moments of satisfaction and excitement.)
I’m always grateful, but I’m not always joyful.
I believe some people think depression is just of the Millennial age (and maybe Generation Z, as the youngsters are called), that perhaps we are just weaker in mind and spirit. But I think it would be entirely incorrect to assume so. For one, I believe anxiety and depression have been a large part of the human experience for all of time. However, I believe it is becoming more rampant because of our movement away from a more communal society. I’m not suggesting we all live in communes, share everything and sing Kumbaya as we hold hands in a circle, whilst donning flow’y white garb (although that’s totally cool if that’s your thing). I am suggesting that we have lost the innate and necessary community and connection that societies previously held.
In the United States, depression is the number one cause of disability and the number two cause of death in persons age 15 through 44. Suicide is within the top ten causes of death among all ages.
Sometimes it feels like depression, this headspace, comes along when I actually need to slow down, allow myself time to think and process, rest and reconnect. But I don’t like to rest. It makes me feel weak. I don’t like to admit any of this. I do want to be known as empathetic, compassionate and understanding, but I want to be known as strong. I don’t want to be known as broken. Something in my makeup feels broken when I’m slathered in the depths of depression (or whatever this experience may be deemed). But that’s the exact incorrect way to view this. And I’m slowly, ever-so-gradually coming to terms with this. Being human is to be broken. We live in a broken world—it has been shattered, ripped, sliced, crushed and pummeled. We as a people have been fractured (and might I add the earth is also experiencing destruction, much or all to our blame).
But, as cliche as it sounds, I don’t believe we become strong by never undergoing struggles. The physical human is not innately strong. We as a people become more resilient and strengthened after experiencing difficulties, losses and tragedies. Something in us may be broken, but I believe that opens us up for something more. A crack in the surface allows something new to build and grow.
These all sound like such cliche and mushy things, and I’m struggling to write this down. I’m cringing and even rolling my eyes at many of these words.
When not in a specific depressive state, I tend to feel in extremes. I feel irrevocable and immense joy and elation, as though it or I can never be touched. At times, I feel pierced and mangled by some devastation or tragedy.
Part of me has an unending optimism, as I absolutely refuse to succumb to a defeatist mentality. What’s the point? Why not hope, why not believe? Even if it feels naive. If you’ve accepted defeat, then that’s what you’ll receive. I have been referred to as “annoyingly optimistic” in the past. I’ve also been accused of being “overly empathetic.”
But we have to have this mindset in today’s society. We have to believe in what we can do as a people, and we have to believe in one another. I think we all have experienced, are experiencing or will experience something that breaks us. We all must be willing to be vulnerable. And we need to listen to others, really listen. I get caught up in trying to determine what is most important in life, what I should be focusing on, what I should do to make money. But I think the human experience comes down to this: connection. We are not meant to go it alone—we are meant to be in community, to connect with others and to help one another. We all crave belonging and we all need it, even if we don’t want to admit it. We’re all in struggle in some way, and you never can quite know what someone else is experiencing. So be kind, connect and listen. And tell your story.
Cheers,
Mary-Margaret Weatherford
mmweatherford5952@gmail.com
Reference:
https://nndc.org/facts/?gclid=Cj0KCQiA7IDiBRCLARIsABIPohga1yre0QN8pVwi3U6ehb5gEXztZKpHto5G3A9L3zh7LwOL0PlnaPMaAuOSEALw_wcB
Also, check out this TED talk on depression.