Gradations

It seems that I have finally found something to write about that has some substance to it.

A recent conversation with a good friend helped me see something. Talking to him and seeing the look on his face as he laid out his concerns and troubles was like looking into a mirror. He and I are both going through agonizing and arduous depression.

There. I said it. And I’ll repeat it.

I. Am. Depressed.

Knowing that I am depressed, acknowledging that fact, has actually helped me to begin to rise up — not above or over it, I have by no means broken through the surface of the muck in which I am currently stuck. But rise a wee bit, for sure.

Invariably, people tend to compare. It is a human concept that exists in all parts of humanity —

• The 1950’s in America with “Keeping up with the Joneses”
• Stories in the Bible, such as Cain and Abel
• Tales from mythologies, such as Athena and her jealousy over Arachne’s skills

We compare on every level, even those of us who have depression. I decided, out of friendship and comradery, to listen and be attentive instead of comparing. And to be quite honest, I cannot compare our situations — he has a share of problems that are unique to him and that I could not possibly experience at this stage of my life, and I also have concerns to which he cannot relate on a first-hand level. So in reality, there is no comparison. There is, however, empathy.

It is so difficult to compare the situations, as my friend and I are very different in many ways.

The hardest part of my current circumstances is that there is quite literally no one here who has first-hand or second-hand understanding of experiences similar to what I have experienced in my life. And I mean literally. I have a classmate, “Craig”, who is a solid decade younger than I am. He made a remark one day that had me and another classmate, who is even older than I am, to stop and scratch our heads. “Craig” offhandedly remarked that he had “been out in the world” when talking about his journey from high school to college to graduate school to the seminary. Only in graduate school did he have to be concerned about rent, and he shared a place in a college town with other guys from the university. He never had to pay full rent. He still has his family home with his childhood bedroom to which he can return on breaks and weekends and whatnot.

I do not have that. Don’t get me wrong, my parents love me and I love them, and I can stay there temporarily, for a certainty. But the room that was my childhood bedroom is no longer my childhood bedroom. The storage and space in their basement where I had, a decade ago, established what we referred to as my “Command Center” for the home network is no longer available for me to set up shop. I have no permanent home, and I can be told to move out of the place where I live at the drop of a hat — as I had to do this summer. There is so little stability in my life, and in the world around me, and that is a damn scary notion.

Now I don’t mean this as a point of comparison between “Craig” and myself. I’m not saying that I am better than him for having lived more in the world than he has, or for having the opportunity to do so as a result of being 10 years older. Nor am I saying that any of the traumas that he might have endured in his life are not valid in any way. What I am saying is that there is a dearth of understanding and comprehension as to what it is like to be out in the world, to be a professional who is earning a paycheck, to have to maintain the house and home on your own, to be the only person who is responsible, from soup to nuts — pay the bills, clean the house, make the food, do the dishes, clean the litter box/walk the dog, change the sheets, et cetera. I’ve been there. Judging by the inherent lack of empathy, most of my classmates seem to be lacking an understanding of some of the traumas in life.

One of the few things from my past that I was actually able to discuss with others was something that happened a little over a year before I arrived at the seminary. There was the anniversary of my mom’s mother’s death. The next day, my dad’s father died. Two days later, one of my siblings was married — which had been planned for at least a year prior — with the funeral following on the day after the wedding. I can almost guarantee that there is no one who has been through that sort of a whirlwind, getting bounced from one moment to the next to the next in rapid succession. I went from mourning a long-dead loved one to helping my family keep their crap together while helping my sibling with the final preparations for the wedding and reception, and also helping with certain arrangements for the funeral.

That is not normal. I literally have not met anyone else here who has gone through a week like that.

That is not to say that there are not some guys who just don’t understand at all. I look at “Jon”, another classmate, who is in his mid-20’s and a military veteran. He served active duty in combat zones. All I can say to that is:

I cannot compare to that, although my own traumas and hurts have rendered me in a similar state to “Jon”. And while I have not been in an active combat zone ever in my life, I can empathize with him because of the fact that it was traumatic.

My reasons for bringing up “Craig” and “Jon” are not to compare our life experiences, or the levels of trauma, or the material things that they have and that I do not possess, but to show that there is a profound need for empathy that is just nonexistent on some level. There is no understanding when it comes to concerns of mental health, and that has been bothering me.

Oh, sure, everyone says, “There’s no stigma.” But anyone with half a brain who has ever heard that phrase knows that when it is applied to a circumstance, there is absolutely still a stigma of the highest order. I know that I am constantly looked upon as an oddity having undergone the TBI (Traumatic Brain Incident, https://steemit.com/mental-health/@phoenix32/the-strangest-of-days-or-how-a-traumatic-brain-incident-altered-my-life-inexorably). I am on meds for it, much like someone with diabetes needs insulin or someone with asthma needs an inhaler. But those are physical concerns, and that makes sense, as someone needing a wheelchair or wearing glasses. The stigma stills exists, and persists hardcore.

No one stops to consider the physicality of the human brain.

It is an organ, like the pancreas and lungs.

It can fail to function properly, like the legs or the eyes.

The guys here are comparing, all the time. I would much rather that they, like my good friend and bro, were empathizing instead of comparing. The comparison does no good for anyone. Hell, even the brief examples a few paragraphs up fall right on the razor’s edge of my words — I am actually concerned that my point will not get across, or that in trying to make my point that I am instead playing into the comparison game. That is truly not my intention.

And that is not to say that they are incapable of empathizing. Far be it for me to insult my classmates, as I have seen them out in the world expressing genuine empathy and kindness for the world around them. They just don’t seem to understand the inner workings of another seminarian.

I’m just hoping for some empathy, some semblance of humanity from the people around me. I am beyond tired… truly exhausted at this point. So when my bro said that he was feeling well and truly exhausted, I could absolutely relate to him and all of his stresses — even though mine are far, far different from his, we met on the level playing field of just being flat-out done. I know that he was empathizing as well, even though he has never (and will never) go to seminary, but he sure as hell understands the exhaustion.

That. That is what I need.
That is what we all need, to be fair and honest.

Maybe we can all try to be more empathetic towards one another instead of judging and condemning each other...