Do not Bequeath your self as burden
It became very fashionable, trendy even, to say "there's too much mental anguish going on - TALK ABOUT IT". 'Talk ABout It' campaigns seemed to spring up everywhere; On obsequiously earnest Good Morning TV shows, in glossy aspirational men's magazines, as trailers on streaming services - absolutely everywhere...
...parading icons of our time, athletes and sports people, actors, all of the great and the good wringing their hands over the anguish they have suffered. None of whom would I wish to dis, so brave of them in this deeply biased society.
But this constant barage of such messaging left me feeling deeply perturbed, frustrated and in fact, impotent. I felt as though all of my own personal anguish was my fault because I wasn't "talking about it". To whom, how, about what, when, where even? Worse still, talking is a two way thing. There's no use telling me I have to talk about it unless everyone else wants to talk about it too... It all felt to me like victim shaming. Your head's a mess? Then heal yourself like all these brave souls you see on TV. And if you can't? Well that's on you, you just aint brave enough, you're just not good enough.
A quick Internet search took me to wannatalkaboutit.com - which turned out to be nothing more than an advert for Netflix™® shows about serial killers and such... oh, with a link to the Samaritans chucked in below the fold (yeah, you gotta scroll to get to that bit). So you know, more looking like they're doin' something good, rather than actually doing any good.
But why should Netflix™® be doing any genuine good - in this world if you want help you gotta help yourself, right?
If I were a younger man, the whloe mess of it would have made me quite angry.
Because it's the biggest, most obvious, in your face, case of lip-service I have ever seen. Not from the individuals who tell their stories, but from the media channels who are ultimately profiteering on misery. "Oooo suicide, that'll draw some punters in, get the ratings up".
Live streaming the tears of a star athlete, or even gyles fucking brandreth, is certainly cheaper than providing universal mental health care.
It's all cart before the horse. People aren't equipped to follow these edicts. People don't even know how to talk about death; something (like mental health) that effects every single one of us.
But Hey, I'm all about solutions not problems! Hahaha
So I was glad to hear a snippet of a podcast my wife played me (Top Flight Time Machine) where they were exhorting us to "just talk shit". Moan, complain, set the world to rights. Be in situations where there's time and space to simply chew the cud.
Because that takes you out of the head space where issues fester.
Sure, it aint gonna be in and off itself enough; it's no silver bullet - but in a world where pubs and social clubs are closing down, it's worth reminding people of the importance of community engagement. It's explicable, understandable, doable. It's actually solid practical advice - instead of just saying "talk about it, there it's your problem now".
Solid, actionable, practical advice - well done guys.
I wrote Burden as a love poem - which means it's also a mental health poem.
It's about that classic man thing of not going to doctors - of being stronger than that; and certainly not talking about going to the doctors in the event of some extreme physical complaint. Grin and bear it, eh?
My own dad dropped dead of a heart attack a week after seeing a GP. We never even knew he had a GP, let alone that he'd been to see one because he was suffering chest pains.
So of ourse, when I found myself with an appointment to meet with some cancer quack down the local hospital (years ago now) the idea of mentioning it to my wife simply never entered my head. Telling someone else I was hurting was simply too alien a concept for me to even know I could consider it. I had to work away for a week and spent my evenings contemplating my imminent mortality over Wetherspoon's lasagnes at a table for one.
So when my wife saw the open the letter from the hospital a lot of things came to light for me... I realised I wasn't shielding her from my pain, I was just deferring it; making sure she would feel that pain all by herself after I was gone, when I would be utterly unable to help her through it.
So now, without exception, I tell her about all of the physical complaints I have - well the ones I'm not ignoring for myself leastways. But what's more, having got to that point, I find now that I do even, sometimes, tell her how I'm actually feeling in my head. Only when I'm not pretending I'm not feeling anything of course! But sometimes. And it helps, she helps, with a different perspective that breaks the locked grooves we fall into.
So I think that's what's needed. Not the resolve to have a mental health gushing, crying, breakdown down the pub; embarrasing your mates who have no idea what to say or do. But rather, just remembering to mention what ails you in the moment to the ones you love.
Not to say that's any good advice when it comes to crisis or meltdown - but this is how 'talking about it' can be a help; in the moment, in company, with loved ones who'd rather bear your pain today than burden it when you've past away.