I recently re-read a long-ago old blog of mine I kept, which was started as a way for friends and family to follow me through my travels instead of reading mass email updates, and then devolved into a diary, that I am pretty sure had a viewership of one, me.
What struck me reading back, is that during years I considered myself unhappy, largely because I didn’t enjoy being in graduate school, I did not feel depressed. For a good 2.5 years. I did eventually relapse, but only towards the very end. And that was after almost 10 years of keeping my illness at bay.
In fact, during that time in school, I celebrated my optimism and was carried by what seemed like this passion, this drive to do good in this world. And I documented in my blog the times people from around the world, people from local communities and organizations said they noticed this energy, enthusiasm and commitment in me, and felt I would go on to do great things. And as I felt disenchanted with the process to get my credentials, I was certain the strength I had gained through my years of many a personal hardship already, plus this greater calling would guide me forward to where I was supposed to be.
This type of optimism is the absolute opposite of depression. And even though I didn’t like the environment I was in, it carried me. And I acknowledged at that moment, though my adolescent depression had once almost forced me to drop out of high school, here I was now, going to graduate with a professional degree of prestige. And it was impressive.
Fast forward 10 years and I cannot shake the feeling that I’m an enormous failure. All that promise, all that potential, wasted. In the gutter. I held onto a thin thread of that optimism, hoping I could rediscover what I had for a special slice of my life if I made a big physical move, and swiftly that hope was extinguished in a matter of months. In fact, I feel far more certain that in the unjust world I thought I would be championing the rights of those less privileged than myself, my body is just another causality of the oppressive forces of racism, ableism, sexism, capitalism, etc.
My peers would generally be aghast at a statement like that, that I dare to compare myself to truly oppressed people like those living in bombed war-torn areas, people physically abused, starving, people fighting to make an earning, fighting to stay alive. But those people are strong. They are the champions not me. I don’t want to fight for my life, I would rather die. I’ve got nothing left to give to anyone.
My therapist might be happy that I see the injustice of the world and things that have happened to me, rather than internalizing the blame, as I have most of my depressed existence. But it’s a mixed bag. I still feel shame that I never got it right. I know a part of me believes I must have contributed to it all falling apart, because anyone from the outside is bound to think that I did. There’s only one constant in this equation of unhappiness, and that’s me, therefore I am responsible, I am to blame.
A new but old friend of mine, one who knows nothing of my illness or struggles, said this straight up to me, if you’ve been miserable for the last 7 years, you’ll be miserable no matter what you do, no matter where you are. When he said this, I got defensive, and said environment matters. You don’t understand nor do you have the capacity to imagine the toxicity of the places I’ve been in – I too could have never pictured it 10 years ago. You are projecting your own bullshit on me, to explain your own discontent and justify your decision not to make any changes in your life. That’s not me. If I found the right place, right environment, I could be happy (what I really meant was healthy, happy is a dumb goal, but it was too much to delve into at the moment).
Do I actually believe this?
I believe my illness has biological and genetic components, and I am sure Freud has some valid points about my childhood influences as well —- but just as science has caught up, I have also always believed it is influenced by/a product of my environment.
I am, as I have alluded to in other posts before, deeply uncomfortable with the way Western society is fetishizing and adopting Eastern philosophy. From meditation, to yoga, to “mindfulness” it feels like Westerners are just cherry-picking parts in an effort to just be more productive in society rather than alter their lifestyle to achieve the true benefits of the Eastern principles and worst yet, commodifying them in an ultra-capitalist way.
I recently read an article called the Mindfulness Conspiracy, that was full of so many good nuggets on this issue, but I feel like this one was particularly poignant for me as I struggle with the thoughts from this post.
The so-called mindfulness revolution meekly accepts the dictates of the marketplace. Guided by a therapeutic ethos aimed at enhancing the mental and emotional resilience of individuals, it endorses neoliberal assumptions that everyone is free to choose their responses, manage negative emotions, and “flourish” through various modes of self-care. Framing what they offer in this way, most teachers of mindfulness rule out a curriculum that critically engages with causes of suffering in the structures of power and economic systems of capitalist society.
If mindfulness just helps people cope with the toxic conditions that make them stressed in the first place, then perhaps we could aim a bit higher. Should we celebrate the fact that this perversion is helping people to “auto-exploit” themselves? This is the core of the problem. The internalisation of focus for mindfulness practice also leads to other things being internalised, from corporate requirements to structures of dominance in society.
Of course, reductions in stress and increases in personal happiness and wellbeing are much easier to sell than serious questions about injustice, inequity and environmental devastation.
The rhetoric of “self-mastery”, “resilience” and “happiness” assumes wellbeing is simply a matter of developing a skill. Mindfulness cheerleaders are particularly fond of this trope, saying we can train our brains to be happy, like exercising muscles. Happiness, freedom and wellbeing become the products of individual effort. Such so-called “skills” can be developed without reliance on external factors, relationships or social conditions. Underneath its therapeutic discourse, mindfulness subtly reframes problems as the outcomes of choices. Personal troubles are never attributed to political or socioeconomic conditions, but are always psychological in nature and diagnosed as pathologies. Society therefore needs therapy, not radical change. This is perhaps why mindfulness initiatives have become so attractive to government policymakers. Societal problems rooted in inequality, racism, poverty, addiction and deteriorating mental health can be reframed in terms of individual psychology, requiring therapeutic help. Vulnerable subjects can even be told to provide this themselves.
It is a fundamental tenet of neoliberal mindfulness, that the source of people’s problems is found in their heads. This has been accentuated by the pathologising and medicalisation of stress, which then requires a remedy and expert treatment – in the form of mindfulness interventions. The ideological message is that if you cannot alter the circumstances causing distress, you can change your reactions to your circumstances. In some ways, this can be helpful, since many things are not in our control. But to abandon all efforts to fix them seems excessive. Mindfulness practices do not permit critique or debate of what might be unjust, culturally toxic or environmentally destructive. Rather, the mindful imperative to “accept things as they are” while practising “nonjudgmental, present moment awareness” acts as a social anesthesia, preserving the status quo.
I could not heal myself, no matter how much treatment I had, in a fucked-up place. I do recognize the the enormous privilege I still have, to set forward in my search for a place where my environment isn’t harming me. (While still hoping to fight the forces in this world that cause them). This is an ability most others do not have. Some do, but refuse to act upon it.
But I am also more vulnerable. And I have lost the optimism that carried me before. And leaving one fucked up place to land in another even more fucked up place is making me scared about where to go next. I have no energy to fight for myself or to fight for others. And I don’t know how to do anything else.
And I’m still caught up in the Western notion of choice. That this is my choice, and if choose the wrong environment, I’m damning myself to my misery. That my well-being and happiness is still a product of my choices, and even it’s not me sitting and teaching myself how not to think, it’s discovering a non-existent place where the oppressive forces of the world don’t touch and affect me so deeply. It’s like chasing a fairytale, I feel doomed. The world is just becoming a more fucked up place as each day passes.
Maybe my friend is right. I’ll be miserable no matter what I do, no matter where I go. But maybe it’s not because I choose to be miserable. But because misery is everywhere and inescapable. Maybe suicide is the only enlightened choice I have.
Inside My Madness 