Tuesday, February 01, 2005
sadness is an epidemic with no vaccine
Perhaps a pandemic. Perhaps more widespread than AIDS.
So many millions of us are taking anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, tranquilizers, mood stabilizers, SSRIs, lithium, Ritalin and its derivatives, Xanax, Paxil, Zoloft, and other ludicrously-named, allegedly happiness-inducing medications. Do they work? I don't know. I've never taken them. And I paid just enough attention during Garden State to conclude that I don't ever want to, or at least things would have to get very very bad before I would want to.
But everyone is sad, myself included. I'm willing to admit I am prone to extremes of emotion, good and bad. Last year I managed all shades of them, and for some reason I felt stronger for it.
I think I took everything in stride because I assumed that my feelings were normal, that I wasn't alone, that it was just an adjustment, or in very desperate moments because I would be going home soon. Now of course, I am home, and I'm having to deal with the fact that many people remain literally and figuratively far away.
My conclusion in all of this is quite simply that isolation is not the answer. Isolation is the polar opposite of the answer, at least for me.
And I will tell you why this is so -- for me.
I tried to go stunting last night, but there were no tops who weren't rehearsing for Best of the West, so I couldn't do anything in that department. Instead I tried to practice my back tuck, but bailed on my first attempt. The only rule of back tucks is to never, ever bail in the air. But I freaked out and couldn't help it.
I watched one of the tops suffer a spectacular fall on a really scary-looking stunt where she does a cartwheel onto her partner's hands and then he lifts her up off the ground and over until she's above his head. The only problem is that she over-rotated and when he lifted her she just kept going sideways. Since there was only one spotter on the wrong side she fell with her entire body spread out, 6 feet in the air, onto the floor. This girl is one of the "twinsies," the little Asian twin sisters who weigh maybe 100 pounds each. She's the Good Twinsie. Her sister, apparently, is the Evil One. Good Twinsie's fall looked incredibly dangerous, and she didn't get up for about fifteen minutes. Her stunt partner (who happens to be her boyfriend) finally got her to sit up and he just cradled her in his arms like she was a little child. It was a sweet and kind of sad moment, which of course just made me more sad.
(She was okay, by the way, and a few minutes later was doing the same stunt over again. Brave little critter!).
I was discouraged, and doubly discouraged knowing that I was a big wimp for bailing in the air when other girls will willingly allow their heads to be smashed in rather than mess up their routine. I'm not saying that getting your head smashed in is a good thing or something to aim for, but it is wimpy to bail on an easy gymnastics skill with a mat underneath you and a spotter helping (the Boy, no less!).
We left earlier than usual, and stopped to eat on the way home. We started talking about me being sad and I said that I thought we could work things out if we were both willing to. It was a discussion that should not have been undertaken at midnight on a school night on a chilly street corner. I pointed this out and said I would just go home, but he refused to leave me alone when I was upset, so he followed me home. I objected the whole way there, saying that he had an 8:00 class the next morning (which I did not want to sabotage, especially since I am giving up 3 nights a week already so he can go to it), and that the buses only ran for another half hour or so, and that he shouldn't have to pay for a cab home, etc. To his credit, he wouldn't leave me. I had to smuggle him into my room (him staying over while my parents are around is verboten, but it has occasionally been overlooked in the past if we're clever about it), and we talked for an hour and a half, maybe longer. I do think he made considerable efforts to listen and respond, though of course the real test will be of his actions. I'm not asking a lot, really. Just for a bit of affection, especially when I need it the most.
He stayed over and we both slept very little, but I felt better in the morning. I felt better equipped to face the day. My mom made me pancakes for breakfast (okay, so they were for my brother but he slept in so I got to have them), and I ate them with peanut butter and maple syrup as I usually do. I know it's odd. I read both sections of the paper and then left for school. The same Tegan & Sara song from the night before was playing on my cd player as I walked to the bus stop. But this time it made me smile:
The forecast is grey but we're staying inside
You must live close I've seen you drive by
you left signs on the lawn
where have they gone?
did you leave them to tease me?
To follow or lead me?
You're a silly love song
a verse, chorus, and such.
Some silly love song
a verse, chorus, and such.
I'm a car crash, but I've got to get up
And every morning is a clean up.
All I need is time
Time to love you.
Why do we all find it so hard to capture or recapture the feeling that sometimes suffering is good, that positivity works, and that we are not alone in the world?
I don't have all the answers. If I even get all mine answered I'll be doing swimmingly.
But I have just one. The answer is: reach out. Don't isolate yourself. It didn't work for the Americans in 1941 (there was that little incident in Hawaii), and it doesn't work for me. If you are fortunate enough to have people who care, don't take them for granted. And don't let them take you for granted either.
It has to be about give and take. There's just no other way. The Boy refused to leave me on a street corner crying, so I corrected his psychology report until 1:00 in the morning (which presumably he would have been working on last night had he not been held up).
So I get a cute little email that I know would consist of his childlike scrawl if it was on paper:
Editing and notes please and thank you must shower
dont have time to punctuate or spelll proporly luv yoo
bye!
b
And I won't take it for granted.
(My font just decided that now is a good time to change and then refuse to revert back
again. Argh!)
In other news, a non-profit organization called War Child (you may have heard of them:
they're Canadian, Avril Lavigne is a pretty big supporter of theirs, and they do charitable
work for children affected by war) is organizing a theatre project and I decided on the
spur of the moment to audition for it. It will be my first audition since...well, high school.
They sent me a monologue and it's pretty brutal -- it's the story of a little girl caught in
the middle of a very bloody civil war. Out of my realm of experience, obviously, but
maybe that's a good thing.
I'm just going to try to present it as truthfully as I can.
I like the idea of doing theatre and social activism at the same time. It might be a really
neat experience.
Anyway, it is really time for bed.
Thanks everyone for your emails, comments, thoughts, and support. It is all greatly
appreciated.
Goodnight.
-N
