The Comfort of Illness

Sometimes I wish I could go to Phil Collins in the 80's and tell him it's okay that everyone hates him for selling out Genesis and being on the radio all the time. I don't want him to feel bad about himself. I don't want anyone to feel bad about themselves. The thing that I spend most of my life doing, besides trying to find my keys in my purse, is making sure that other people feel validated and valued.

My sister, similarly, has a desire for Benedict Cumberbatch to succeed in life. She doesn't know the man, but she feels an inclination towards him and his happiness.

(I searched for "Benedict Cumberbatch thumbs up" and this showed up.)

It is natural to desire happiness for the people we feel an emotional connection with. Even if the connection is because of mad drum skills and a strong, high voice or a playfully intelligent personality and precise acting.

Driven by this desire, we often try to fix the problems of the others around us. We operate on the assumption that if given the chance to have painful things taken away, they would have them removed. We can be confused when others (and ourselves) seem to stay in a difficult circumstance.

This is because there is a duality: we can want to be healed and simultaneously have fear of an unfamiliar life.

One of the beautiful and perplexing things about life is that we can feel more than one emotion at a time. If my 8am class is canceled at 7:50am, I can be simultaneously peeved that I already got to school early when I didn't need to and happy that class is canceled and I will have time to work on other things.

One subtle thing I have noticed is the comfort of mental illness. It can be tempting to assume that people with anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder, etc. want to not have those afflictions.  And it's true, we don't want those burdens. But there is also a part of us that doesn't remember what life was like without those things. It is familiar to us. It absolves us of responsibility in our lives to a certain extent. There are some benefits, whether real or perceived.

Kay Redfield Jamison is a pyschologist with manic depression and she wrote "An Unquiet Mind." In it she says, "I have often asked myself whether, given the choice, I would choose to have manic-depressive illness. ... Strangely enough, I think I would choose to have it. It's complicated. Depression is awful beyond words or sounds or images ... So why would I want anything to do with this illness? Because I honestly believe that as a result of it I have felt more things, more deeply; had more experiences, more intensely; ... worn death 'as close as dungarees', appreciated it - and life - more; seen the finest and most terrible in people ... But, normal or manic, I have run faster, thought faster, and loved faster than most I know. And I think much of this is related to my illness - the intensity it gives to things." Dr. Jamison clarifies that she would only choose manic depression if medication were also an option. She would not choose to have it without medication. 

A knowledge of this duality can color and benefit the way we act with individuals who have been given a challenge. Instead of being frustrated or confused at behavior, we can have a desire to understand. We can feel a desire to understand this duality in ourselves as well. 

Listen to others and yourself. "How do I feel about this aspect of my life? Are there things I'm doing to keep it there? Is it worth the trade off? Would I choose this if given the choice?"

Julia Vincent Hetherton

Mouthwash in the Time of Elevator

    This is a guest post by my talented sister, Jessica Grissinger.    

  It began with me having a dentist appointment in the middle of the day. It was obvious to me that I wouldn’t have time to go back to my house to brush my teeth for my appointment, so I had the great idea to bring mouthwash with me to use on the way to my car. Everything about that day was going great, I was even a bit ahead of schedule. That is, until I got on the elevator to go down to my car. I made sure that I was getting on an empty elevator so that I could clean my teeth in private. You don’t see people swigging mouthwash on a regular basis so I thought it was something that would be embarrassing to do in public. Then again, I have to leave the room to blow my nose if I'm in class, so maybe it’s all in my head. 

I quickly glugged some mouthwash after getting into the elevator. My plan was to get off the elevator, find a trashcan, spit out said mouthwash and get on my merry way.

Three floors from my destination, a mother and her daughter got on with me. "Oh my gosh what do I do?" I thought.  Given my fear of being thought of as a public mouthwashing weirdo, I try to hide the liquid in the back of my mouth and avert my eyes to the dirty corners of the elevator.

By the way, isn’t it just a given that you don’t talk to strangers in an elevator? Sadly, my efforts were to no avail. It turns out that they were attending a college orientation that morning. Here I was, a living, breathing-through-her nose college student they could ask questions of. It was already too late for me to put in my ear buds and it would have been very rude to ignore them. In a moment of bravery that will never receive the recognition it deserves, I swallowed my mouthful of Crest. Just in case anyone is curious, the intense minty flavor burns like heck. Right as I gulped, I remembered the warning on the back label to not swallow any amount of this stuff, and here I am downing a good bit of it. I don’t know if they could tell that I was in shock by the burning sensation going down my throat and the fear that I might keel over right there from alcohol poisoning, but I’m pretty sure I hid my emotions quite well. There might have been a slight twitch in my right eye as this was all happening. I then answered their questions and we chatted a bit until they got off one floor before my stop. I can honestly say I probably had the cleanest breath those dentists have been around all day.

Julia Vincent Hetherton