Kiss or Tear to Shreds the Pillow of Depression?

_{To those in distress}

It's getting busy. Are the dark days upon us because the holidays are in sight? It's difficult to say. Perhaps that's the case for some, but doctor, for me it is not. I have always had a difficult time, and I live in a hell that you cannot see, but that doesn't mean it isn't here. I am tired, tired, and I do nothing but cry with everything I do. It doesn't matter what it is, the washing up, the laundry, I drag myself out of be,d and it's becoming increasingly difficult to kill time. They don't want me to cry. She can't stand tears.... I can't stand lying, wearing a mask and pretending everything is fine, keeping up appearances, and frankly, I don't think I can manage much longer.

After so many years of sessions, after so many tips and trying out therapies, there is nothing left that can be done. The loneliness has hit hard, but that's not the only thing. There are no answers to burning questions like: How is it that the greatest criminals are always rewarded, while the upbringing is: Virtue is its own reward. You must always be polite and helpful. Your time will come. The years pass, and that time never comes. There is a small group lining their pockets while the rest walk around with hungry bellies and must be grateful for the few crumbs that fall, which they are allowed to pick up.

It's hard being a therapist and for a moment, I think back to the dying therapist who sat in this chair opposite me and uninterestedly let the person across from him talk, always asking: What do you think about this? Or: What do you think you'll do about that? Not once did I hear the words: How can I help you. Not that the offered help would have changed anything. If you want to change a situation, you have to speak up for yourself, change yourself, because every action provokes a reaction. What do you think, doc, is there a hell? The idea of hell is the only thing holding me back. It's a strange remark. Anyone who lives in hell daily shouldn't be afraid of it and could even benefit from it. After all, hell is then familiar territory, or am I wrong? Even in he,ll we gain experience, something that can be an advantage.

"Where is Tom," asks Hank, "is he in rehab or is he experiencing his next depression?"

I look around the circle but no one reacts, seems to know where Tom is, who normally would have strolled in long ago.

"I'm on a platform," Rose remarks. "It's alright, though there's a lot of fighting. It's something I'm tired of. Am I the only one? Are there no normal people?"

"Not here," bellows Hank, who finds himself very funny. "You know we're on the sixth floor and that's not without good reason. We all have our worries, the misery is growing over our heads, and there clearly aren't always solutions, otherwise we wouldn't still be sitting here. Whether you like it or not...."

"Yes, yes, I know," says Rose. "We're all in the same boat." "Doc, what do you think? Is it possible for everyone to be on the same page?"

"It seems unlikely to me," I say, "if that were the case, it would have been a fact long ago."

"Well," says Ank, "we can at least all air our hearts and have our say, can't we."

It's a strange remark from her, especially because she never really comments and it's unclear if she even follows what is being said. "I'm not much of a reader" is her steadfast remark or: "I quickly lose the thread of the conversation, so all that group stuff is lost on me." Today she seems more present. Who knows, perhaps we can one day be that terrific team, which I'm sure can move mountains and where no one feels disadvantaged or alone.

"Everything revolves around money," says Tom, who unexpectedly comes storming in. "If I had never met her, then I wouldn't have been lying awake now because she financially fleeced me. I feel cheated."

"I thought I told you to have a shower and a shave," I interrupt him. "Sorry, Tom, but you stink. The smell is unbearable."

He doesn't look ashamed; he's far too drunk for that. "It's the pillow," he notes, "the pillow of depression is back and I can't do anything about it."

Hank and Rose nod and the atmosphere is heavy.

"I'm not a money-grubber," says Tom, "but life is just too hard when you constantly have to watch how you're passed over, on purpose or by fate. In the end, it's all the same."

"You just have to distract yourself," says Trix with a tremulous voice, "that's what I do every day. Take up a hobby, and the busier you are, the better it is. All that brooding is no good for anything. You lot are always just moaning." Trix looks skinny and peevish and doesn't seem for a moment to hear what's preoccupying the others. She has never been a team player and probably never will be. The only thing that interests her is fighting against global warming. A sense of reality is lost on her.

Oliver sits in a corner and watches the others. The circle of strangers doesn't make him feel at home. For him, "a problem shared is a problem halved" does not apply. Once he's fixated on something, he can't think of anything else.

When everyone is quiet and seems lost in thought, I say: "Unity is strength." It's something we rarely think about. The little people, those who have nothing to contribute, are in the majority, and it is possible to form a front. We can embrace the pillow of depression, kiss it, or tear it to shreds. Everyone must decide for themselves if it's worth carrying on or packing it in altogether. The fact remains that we are ultimately alone in life. If we are aware of that, then things can only get better, but it will always cost energy. Ask yourselves if it's worth staying in hell on earth, hoping, or if it's better to undertake something together.

^{21.10.25
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