Posted on February 6
At a time when personal fulfillment is erected as a supreme value, can one still be unhappy?
Under the sustained bombardment of self-representations in which everyone stages themselves in their most advantageous postures, both physical and moral, does expressing one’s distress condemn us to loneliness, even isolation? Depressed people of all countries, shut up!
A friend’s email has been going around in my head for a few days. His sister died suddenly. Of natural cause. “My grief will not be too difficult, she has always been unhappy. “Oh, so much the better? I offered my condolences anyway. My day has been undermined: an anguish in the hollow of the guts, a diffuse malaise.
Sorry for his sister, I found it unfortunate that his death did not sadden his loved ones more. And I was worried about the future of my death, too. You see, I am a poor producer of serotonin, dopamine and other neurotransmitters capable of making our lives more beautiful.
Having gone from alcoholism to depressive episodes, then from drug addiction to generalized anxiety disorder, there are surely some in my entourage to lighten their possible mourning with a reflection like: “It’s sad, but David was never very happy…” Worse afterwards? I want to live, me!
Maybe she loved life, hard as it could be at times, my homie’s sister. Like the hundreds of thousands, maybe even the million of our fellow citizens struggling with mental health issues. Nearly 12% of our society, according to the National Institute of Public Health of Quebec. “Anxiety disorders, depression and schizophrenia affect 10%, 5% and 1% of the population respectively. “Comorbidity, therefore. We are not alone ! Of all the modern ills, of all the causes to be defended, we often forget mental injustice, especially since “studies have shown that all mental disorders are associated with excess mortality”. That’s what lifts our spirits.
The disqualified from the game of living, the atrophies of bliss, the cracked of my species do not want to die, just stop suffering, at least make their evil tolerable.
Contrary to popular belief, the majority of people who have suicidal thoughts will never attempt suicide, the majority of those who do will not die, and these survivors will never attempt suicide again. . Self-murder is a rare phenomenon, after all; even the beings in the grip of the greatest distress, until the last minute, hope to find a way of survival. So mourn us when we die, even if we die too often.
From mental health to physical health, a parallel is essential. Is the death of the handicapped less tragic, on the sole pretext that they have a more complicated existence, that they have less access to the joys of existence? If we don’t compare apples and oranges, we can very well compare the quality of life of a bipolar to that of a quadriplegic. I know some more fulfilled than others. And we must recognize that people with a physical handicap arouse more compassion and usually benefit from adapted services. To put it prosaically, people with disabilities have a clear advantage over people with mental health issues; visible minorities, at least they are visible.
Let’s extrapolate again.
If we consider depressives, hypomaniacs, psychotics and other soul brothers as bearers of a lesser existence, we could have done without the lights of Charles Darwin, Sylvia Plath, Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Marilyn Monroe, Hubert Aquin or Nelly Arcan? I doubt.
Psychiatry is a young science in its infancy; far from mastering the ins and outs of mental health, she is fumbling. Better and better, no doubt, but even yesterday, lobotomies, cold showers and electroshocks were commonplace. And today, the molecules used in medication never work for all patients sharing the same diagnosis, and are often accompanied by a myriad of side effects, each more deleterious than the next. Whether it serves as an alternative or a complement, psychotherapy has its limits. Meditation and chamomile too.
He who is unhappy is not condemned to remain so. Conversely, it is common to see the strong woman or the pillar of the family crumble. Very little is needed to chip away at the human psyche; a bit of parental neglect, sustained humiliation, an escalating addiction, a violent breakup, or post-traumatic stress disorder. No more. All it takes is a certain predisposition to anxiety, depression, delusional outbursts or psychosis and we’re off for a ride. No one is immune. We can do nothing about it, or very little: welcome, love, forgive, seek to understand.
It’s true, our dead no longer suffer. If our mourning is appeased, keep in mind that our unfortunates still wanted to live. Ultimate injustice, in this piece of life which is torn from them, peace could hide, perhaps even with a few months, a few more years, they could have tasted this mysterious patent called happiness.