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I’m watching an old Jackie Chan film, for the N-teenth time, and I see this gorgeous Asian actress who supposedly ended her own life. And, I think…how could she do that? She is…was…just stunning and witty. What was so bad that she had to die? What is driving so many to suicide? [And, why am I having that strange “deja vu” feeling, again?]
There are a growing number of people exhibiting upsetting levels of emotional distress; myself included. It may be classified as “PTSD” or “poor mental health” or written off as “a kid with ADD.” But, the truth is not as simple as Type A, B or C. And, despite their reluctance to believe or accept it, parents and other adults placed in responsible positions are to blame far more than the “afflicted” who may carry some of the blame. But, I am fairly certain the guilt of the latter is, at least, in part, a reflection of what they receive from others, not their own personal choices, habits or actions. And, most of the time, the “afflicted” are suffering from being under the authority of others, not suffering from being themselves, which many of–if not all of us–are often reminded to be, even though the “status quo” and corporate numbers don’t agree. [That’s a wordy way of saying the “conventional world” prefers you to follow trends and fads rather than be unique.]
Let me just get one little terminology matter sorted out, right here. The crisis is NOT “mental health.” That makes the afflicted feel sick in the head and a variety of inadequacies no one needs.
If you put “mental health” on a dating profile, you’re flashing a neon sign for rejection. [Or, if you are unusually lucky, someone will think of you like a sad lap dog in need of pity, and that won’t last.] At the very least, “emotional health” evokes an urgency for compassion. “Mental health” evokes images of frightful institutions with stained white walls, scary electric devices and confining clothing.
When I was at my lowest of lows in my teens, I became suicidal. I cracked under the pressure of trying to be the best student I could be (because people told me I was “smart” and “could do anything” I wanted if I just “believed” in myself). Guess what. My belief must be flawed, like so many other aspects of my being, and, becoming aware of that flaw, I broke and nearly ended my own life by starving. I didn’t have an eating disorder or a desire to “cut.”
[Ew. Bleh. I do NOT care to see blood or use sharp objects. I like the craftsmanship of swords but am not likely to use one in combat unless my life depends upon it; and, even then, I could not imagine drawing blood without vomiting.]
I just could no longer live the life I was told I had to live. I quickly fell into the belief that I was mentally ill and needed medical help. I took whatever I could receive with the limited resources my parents could provide, and it nearly killed me. The professional help I sought took away my most expensive possession and provided me with pills that nearly caused a heart attack.
When I learned this, luckily before the tragic event could occur, I developed a temper like this world has probably not seen since Adolph Hitler. I knew then, no matter how “ill” I was, I was not getting the help I needed…from anyone. Not my family. Not any professional my parents could afford. I felt a strange urge to fight for my life (and, later, my faith, after becoming very angry with “God” for not responding to my prayers). How I am still alive remains a mystery.
Fighting to stay alive did not and does not solve the remaining problem. I shouldn’t have to fight, at all. I should be living comfortably and within my means, without concern for perfection, wealth or the “status quo.” Instead, I continued (and continue) to suffer from lacking emotional support.
Emotional support involves people of any age being able to speak openly about anything experienced which evokes feeling and, now and then, share some sign of affection, a hug or handshake, for examples. Emotional support is knowing you don’t have to be alone with any mental or emotional difficulty/challenge; you can reach out and feel relieved when you make contact with a caring individual. Emotional support comes with good friendships and healthy family relations, not quarreling every day or slamming doors in the faces of emotional uncertainties.
And, while many are steered toward professional therapy, sadly, professional psychology isn’t the same as a good friend or counseling parent. [If you are fortunate enough to know a good therapist, congratulations; I hope it works out for you. I remain skeptical and bitter.] Why should an “educated professional” giving individual hours to a number of troubled individuals be expected to replace everyone’s emotional support system? If you cannot be emotionally supportive to one other person or a group of children, how can you expect some stranger to invest their life energy into your problems. If daycare services had to include sorting out emotional difficulties, I suspect the management (and any other employees under their authority) would turn gray and consider pushing a panic/eject button.
Heck. Just look at the typical nursing home. How many cases do we hear about elderly family members being force-fed pills until they can no longer think straight and die in their wheel chairs? Families who can no longer care for those individuals rely on outside help, and the outside help is lucky if they can be the dying person’s friend for a short time before it’s too late. How many in that field are truly supportive and compassionate? Compare that number to the number of employees (and, probably, management) who show little to no care, for whatever reason. Maybe the staff are lacking emotional support, too; and that’s why they work there instead of some other place that requires daily smiles to countless customers.
Well…that’s not good. That’s not being nice to your elders. But, it’s okay. You just couldn’t do any more for them. And, if paid strangers can do no better, well, I guess that’s just life. On we go. Right? Enjoy the unpleasant funerals, eat more and more cake and coffee and keep going.
With professional therapy, you pay this stranger to help you sort out your problems. And, from my experience, as a minor, you get textbook answers and the expectation that someone in your life should be able to help with some of what’s troubling you. [My parents were expected to understand, but they were far from understanding anything and part of my problem.] When the therapist is out of answers, medication is prescribed (or, like me, you are handed over to someone else who handles the legal details of medication distribution, sparing the previous therapy service provider from lawsuits). Or, you may get steered toward a number of other service providers to help with assimilating into modern adult society. But, I doubt you’ll FEEL better, other than maybe a temporary relief for having connected some dots to get something done. And, when you feel a sudden need to be emotional with someone, you may not be able to reach out to that therapist who has many other clients and limited time. Imagine if your own parents said they had other children to attend and to make an appointment. Could you wait two weeks to get a hug or chat with your parents when your emotional distress is at a peak?
Emotional support isn’t passing through an airport terminal. You don’t check your baggage, partake in a strip search, fill out some paperwork and pass through a scanner to make sure you’re not hiding anything dangerous. Oh. Wait, that’s what my therapy experience entailed, along with a few unfriendly individuals who coldly told me to “dry up” instead of trying to improve my mood or guide my attention toward something more productive without sounding like boot-camp instructors, making me feel like I had no privacy and robbing me of sleep.
A large enough number of young individuals with this problem have insufficient parents who are too consumed with what they call work and their own personal “release mechanisms” to give their children adequate time and attention.
[Case in point; my own sister has kids and is lucky if she can talk with them without losing her temper after a “stressful day of work.” The father of the children, who does not come from the most socially gifted of families and typically only talks about food or sports or gambling, will quickly pull out his “smartphone,” plunk on a couch and tune out the world when he’s not “at work.” And, if you “poke the bear,” you get mauled. You might wonder why one child has uncontrollable physical “tics” and why another refuses to discuss anything that might be troubling him. Those kids don’t feel comfortable sharing anything about their emotional concerns.]
[Now, take my own parents. Please. Ha. Heck. Take my whole family branch of the tree (myself included on an off day). If you confront one twig and question their behavior, they will deny any responsibility and point fingers. My mother likes to say her parents could do nothing for her. She won’t go on at length with talk of blaming or shaming her parents. But, it’s fairly clear; my grandparents did not supply enough emotional support. It might explain why my mother was the oldest but last to marry among her siblings; why it seems she had to be forced out of the house in a “fixed-up” marriage (meaning she married the guy her “friend” fixed her up with for a rare date). And, on that note, if anyone offers to “fix me up” with someone, I will Taylor-Swift-ly refuse.]
I used to think my parents were good people. I used to have–no, I cannot even bring myself to say it, anymore. It makes me nauseous. I know I hate when people think I think I am better than them, but that’s how I felt about my parents as a little boy. At least, they made me feel as if they were better parents than those who were not home to cook or “be around” while I was watching TV, my main friend for many years, when other friends seemed scarce or too discouraged to call/visit. But, they weren’t the good sort of parents I’d hope to have. No matter what my one sister thinks, they didn’t read me bedtime stories beyond the age of maybe five. I was told to read myself a story, always to occupy myself while my mother and/or father did whatever they had to do to remain sane every day; and they wonder why I have little interest in reading. How I became a good, dedicated student remains a mystery.
My parents never had “the talk” with me; so, when school decided to teach my class about the “birds and bees,” I was petrified and could no longer feel comfortable in the presence of a pretty girl (or even a not-so-pretty girl). I was suddenly Adam in the Garden of Eden, stripped of my innocence by someone who didn’t give me much more emotional support than I received from my own parents, covering my “parts” and looking for the exit door.
And, if I asked my parents any questions or presented any concern with weighted emotions, I was handed a sign that should have read “CLOSED.” My parents had no service to offer. Their dusty computer-less brains could not compute explaining sex of any kind to a minor…or, probably, people of any age. This “small” failing on their part has contributed to SO much social anxiety and difficulty in my adult life.
Find me a parent who can say they spend at least an hour out of every week having a heart-to-heart chat with their children, and I will feel more assured that the children are doing okay (unless the parent is lying).
But, children are not the only ones suffering. Adults are cracking under the pressure, too. I could run off a list of famous names, some people my age, including a former classmate and the lead singer of a favored band. I suffer a small heart attack every time someone I value ends their life or when I hear someone “like me” does the grim deed. Oh, I’m just like that guy; he’s funny and zany…and he just ended his own life. Why? Why must I be like all of these troubled individuals who never find the happiness they desire and leave this life in a horrible, unnatural way? How many accounts must I hear/bear before I can take no more?
Adults are less likely to be saved before they kill themselves. Kids often get caught, somehow, leaving trails to their plots of demise. I shake my head at any news story about some teen shooting people at his or her school and the family admitting no awareness of the problem’s development; someone’s fibbing and/or not adequately speaking with the troubled teen. [Or, there is a dark force at work, here, and no one is talking about that X-File.]
Adults may exhibit self-destructive tendencies/habits, like drinking or other addictions. Yet, when an adult ends their own life, it’s too often discovered after the deed is done. Too many people flock to the scene to say something about how they “had no idea” or expected as much (but could do nothing to stop the suicide), leaving the blame on the afflicted, the one suffering. [Well, they are no longer suffering if they are now dead. Right?]
[Let me just stop right here to briefly discuss “misconceptions.” Misunderstandings are probably the number two problem in establishing emotional support, second to a lack of comfortable communication. And, if anyone misunderstands my writing here as a suicide note or red flag, they are sorely mistaken. But, thanks, if you are concerned. If you reach out, I’ll respond.]
[Maybe if I did not hold onto a thread of faith–if I did not retain some expectation for a god to be supervising everything that I imagine exists for some reason–I might be more at ease with what others claim is a dead-end life. Maybe then killing myself would be easy enough. But, nothing is that simple for me. And, whatever the reason, suicide scares me as much as living in this increasingly distressing world. My fears of dying could melt your face off the skull. Yet, death, I realize or hope, would be a relief. And, I’ve come close so many times without trying to end my own life, leaving me to wonder…is a “higher power” keeping me alive for some purpose? Am I here to be someone’s guardian angel or counselor?]
Right now, my own lack of emotional support is taking a devastating toll on my physical health. That I won’t deny. [I’m lucky I can eat any solid food, right now.] I have just as much inclination to blame “the world” as I realize my own lack of self-control over emotions. My anxiety, depression and other forms of distress are running wild like solar flares or volcanic eruptions. I cannot talk to anyone about my troubles without getting countered or slighted by some casual defense. People I know are “too busy” or dealing with their own lives. I’m a burden to them. They have no answers. I’ve been advised to take relaxing not-the-most-legal drugs. And, the moment I get emotional, I’m “too much.” The phone call is abruptly ended. The email gets an unpleasant response. Lights go out. Good feelings pop (vanish) like bubbles. Cracks form and streams of distress flow through my body, wreaking havoc where they will.
[On a side note, my mother is terrible with friendships. She has a “friend” who has been calling, at least, once a year. And, if that friend is lucky, my mother will call her back, once, after a day or more, when she “feels up to the challenge.” There is no regular interaction or emotional support. This friend has known my mother since they were young adults, probably before my mother was married. And, somehow, this friend has stayed in touch, reaching out to my mother, all these years. Sure; this friend calls with her share of emotional burdens and rarely has anything pleasant to share. But…that’s her life! That’s her problem. She needs a friend; she needs emotional support. But, my own mother cannot be that friend. And, clearly, no matter how many times she calls me a cute name to suggest she’s my friend, she’s not my friend, not at all. She’s an obstruction and hypocrite.]
This is my life. And, it’s not much different from the life I had as a teen, when I was suicidal and very confused, before I had the temper and cynical outlook I have now.
Is nothing going to change? Is nothing going to improve? How can or will it?
Of course, there are things I am not doing. But, beyond myself, reaching out, I expect to cross paths with other people. And, beyond “professional” or “business” behavior, what can I expect or hope to achieve? Good friendships and other emotionally satisfying relationships seem out of reach. If I step outside my comfort zone or take action that isn’t “normal,” I’m a “freak.” No one seems to approve of passing notes or making friends with the medical staff who call you their patient. Anyone else in my shoes would probably become even more deviant or give up the opposite sex…if that’s even a thing, anymore, considering people are CHOOSING to be “sexless” or attempt to alter their DNA so they might be happier to look in a mirror. [Yet, most likely, they still have some form of deviant sexual intercourse.]
[If I’m as bad off as those other folks who killed themselves, I should be dead. I don’t need heart medication to prolong my miserable life just to add questionable side effects. I’d rather die naturally…even if it pains me to say it, literally.]
Forget climate change. If the climate goes south, humans are to blame. If humans get wiped out, we’re still worse than the dinosaurs who did not use nuclear power or fossil fuels to sell a lie amounting to more money than I can put into words, time and time again, generation after generation.
…..But, I bet you or I would be less tense and less likely to be careless with the environment if we weren’t making excuses for our lacking emotional support. If the problem persists, I fear solving climate change won’t be a permanent solution. It’ll just be another diversion that costs too many people more than they should have to pay, simply because someone tries to play god. A few decades later, someone else will try to sell your descendants a bill of goods, try to make you pay more taxes and fees to keep nature from killing you. And, those still living under the “safe, manufactured climate of control” will still likely be suffering from lousy relationships. Sooo, we’re just prolonging the misery by trying to control the atmosphere?
Climate concerns won’t be resolved today, tomorrow or the next day. And, neither will problems caused by lacking emotional support. But, if we open one door today, that’s one less door we have to open tomorrow.
Do YOU know someone who might need your emotional support?
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