I've been thinking about hope a lot, and hopelessness. Partly because I've grown to realise that hopelessness is causing and sustaining my current state of depression, and partly because I am still in my John Green era and hope is a major recurring theme for him. In fact, his most recent vlogbrothers video is what prompted me to try and write down my thoughts to make some sense of them.
For me, at least, hope is an elusive beast and thinking of it as more of a decision than a feeling may be beneficial. Every time I ring the GP, every time I try a new therapy or medication, every time I book a fun activity months in the future, heck, every time I get out of bed in the morning. I am deciding on hope. Hope that it will help; hope that I will still be here in October. Hope that the day will get better.
Weirdly, despite *gestures broadly*, hope for broader humanity is easier to believe in. I have faith that there are enough good people, enough people who just want to live their lives and help others, that the distressing trend towards the far right across the world is just a blip. We are still making progress in terms of medicine, and we value human lives more than ever before. As terrifying as our current moment is, I can see the people fighting back, and I have believe in them. I believe that humans will always create art. I believe that humans will always create community. I believe that humans will survive this. Stories, and trees, and children laughing, will continue to inhabit this world for many, many years to come.
It is harder to see where I fit in to all of this though. I am just a passive observer, of this world, and of my life. What does it matter if I spend the afternoon in bed? The world will go on just fine without me. I don't know what I'm for. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.
I recently read a review of hopelessness as a clinical phenomenon, including its components and potential interventions. And their thesis, that hopelessness consists of three aspects, seems reasonable to me. Those components are dismal expectations about one’s future, blocked goal-directed processing, and helplessness, and I can see shades of all three in my current state of mind.
It's not so much that I expect specific bad things in my future, it's just hard not to believe that my best days are behind me. Most obviously, my relationship with Jess exists solely in the past. My son is grown up and growing away from me, as is only right and proper. I know I am not as quick mentally as I used to be, my body is starting to feel the effects of middle-age and the only way from here is down. Even if I take up writing again, I've already written the best story I'm ever likely to produce (and that was nearly a year ago now). Last year, I even got to talk books with John, and I think that might be hands down the coolest thing I've ever done. So what is there left for me? Time with friends, of course, days out, maybe seeing some live music, but it all just feels like distractions while my time slowly ticks away.
This ties quite closely to the "blocked goal-directed processing", i.e. the experience of goals and desired outcomes being blocked and being unable to detach from those goals. I feel like...maybe I have detached from a number of goals - writing a novel, learning an instrument, being a mathematician - but nothing has really replaced them. And then of course, there is the limerance. The object changes, but it always seems to be someone unavailable. I spend too much of my waking conscience at the moment thinking about a happily married man who barely knows I'm alive, and, unfortunately, it makes me happy - at least in the short term. But there is an undercurrent of sadness, of knowing it is an impossible dream, and facing up to reality just leaves me bereft. And my inability to think of different goals, different ways to aim my awareness and conscious effort, is, I think, a large part of why this current episode of depression just keeps going.
Helplessness is, naturally, the most obvious of the three for everyone to see. My counsellor has done amazing work at getting me to at least try and act as if I am capable of doing things, even when I doubt I am. But, and here's the kicker, the feeling of helplessness isn't all that unreasonable. After all, I've been trying to manage my mental health for thirty years or so - I've had numerous attenpts at counsellling, other therapy, about six different anti-depressants, read several self-help books - and I am still here. I am still teetering on the edge of the pit. I am still struggling. Nothing I, or anyone else, has done has changed that. I can acknowledge that things have helped. I know I am better at managing my anxiety. Most of the time I am vaguely functional. Things could be a lot worse. But I am not sure they could be better. Or at least, I am not sure I can make things better. Because I just don't know how. If I did, I would - that's obvious, right?
There is a clear parallel here between my own internal mental state, and the feeling of hopelessness so many have in the face of current political and environmental challenges. They cannot see a better future, because right now everything is terrible and the people in power are making it worse: things are clearly going downwards with no end in sight. Attempts to change the world for the better are being actively thwarted. And they, as individuals, have no power to change things. Even mass protests in the US are doing little other than increasing the state violence. However, as I said above, I have faith that, eventually, the long arc of history will continue to bend towards justice. Fear and hopelessness are understandable, maybe even inevitable, but they cannot be allowed to prevent action. Engaging in doomerism online only hinders efforts to fight back.
And just as John argues that deciding on a more hopeful world view makes it more likely hopeful stuff will come to pass, I have to believe that deciding on hope for me, personally, makes it more likely the future will be brighter. So I keep going.
