A friend of mine was going through days of deep sadness. I asked her if she would speak to me while she suffered, if she would loan her feelings and thoughts to a column. She agreed, recognizing that the interview would be cleansing for her, and that for readers, it would be a window into the mind of a stranger, of another human being.
My friend figured that giving others the chance to peer through the porthole of her feelings might ease other people’s burdens. Her words remind us that we’re not alone in our personal battles. Reading this is akin to learning about a biblical character such as Jacob, whose struggle with the angel taught us about facing existential angst.
We’ll call my friend L’ailah. She is in her mid-30s and highly accomplished in her work counselling prisoners, many of whom are lifers. L’ailah is quite remarkable.
She told me, “Yes, lately I’m feeling sad, a general hopelessness, and it’s compounded because there is the guilt of ‘Why I can’t get my s–t together. Why can’t I be happy?’
“Everything feels like an effort. You know that feeling where the whole thing is so much work, even getting out of bed in the morning? How am I going to get through the next 40 years?”
L’ailah told me there are many people who love and support her, but nobody can make her feel better when she’s depressed. That load is hers to carry.
“I worry about burdening other people with my sadness. My friends and family want to fix things, and when they can’t, it makes them feel bad. For me, it’s easier to pretend everything is OK.
“My sadness and despair sometimes make me feel as though I literally have a weight on my head pushing me down. I can’t move. I will realize that I have been sitting perfectly still, staring at nothing for an hour or longer, as though I’m frozen.”
I asked her what images and memories come to mind when she feels this way.
“Even when I was a kid, I remember feeling a lot of anxiety – you know that feeling, not knowing where you fit?
“I was an only child and spent a lot of time with my parent’s friends. I wanted their approval. I remember watching adult behaviours and thinking if I could emulate them, I would be a successful human being. Other kids didn’t know how to deal with me. I went on a school trip when I was 12 and someone thought I was the teacher. I never had friends my age. I wasn’t an adult and I wasn’t a kid.”
L’ailah told me appearances meant “everything” to her mom. (L’ailah has a less complex relationship with her father, one that’s very loving and less judgmental. She describes him as somewhat overbearing, but it’s “more like a kitten licking you to death.”)
“I was always well behaved. My mom delighted in telling me stories of how they would take me to restaurants and I never had tantrums. I was quiet, often invisible. This made her happy.
“A long time ago, I tried to kill myself. My mother said, ‘What are people are going to think of us?’ I know my mother loves me, but I think she saw me as an extension of herself, and my sadness as a negative reflection of her parenting skills. She couldn’t see me as my own person, separate from her.”
We’re not alone in our thoughts and feelings, or at least not as isolated as we think. The truth is, we are L’ailah. It’s OK.
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