On the other side

There’s nothing like visiting a hospital to make you grateful for your good health. Sure, we grizzle occasionally about the inconveniences of aching bones or a dodgy back or even a persistent sniffle or a stomach bug. Still, they’re small beer, you realise once you walk the antiseptic corridors of a general hospital, and you see the old and frail, the bent and failing, the patients in walking chairs or with tubes in their nose or coming from their body. To see people made feeble by illness is a levelling experience, and no more so than when you realise for many that this is the terminal stage, and it’s never going to get any better than that.

It’s at once both very humbling but also very scary. There but for the grace of God, you think, not knowing whether this might be in your future also. And you leave the hospital gasping in the fresh air, grateful to be healthy, no matter those inconveniences, grateful to be able to walk in the sunshine unaided and to see friends and live life unfettered by ill health. For a while, you remember, and then it slips from your mind.

I think it’s similar when it comes to mental health, though it’s normally not so clear.

I have complained in recent times, and in recent times have felt myself withdrawn and put upon occasionally and enshrouded in gloom I didn’t want to believe in. I battled at it as if caught in a net and tried in characteristic fashion to think my way out of it – as if the spirit could be healed by the intellect. When you’re in the middle of these episodes, it feels quite difficult, but I understand with perspective that these are inconveniences of the spirit. I am waylaid, but I am healthy. Others are not so lucky.

All this comes to mind because a friend of mine is struggling, and I fear for his future. He’s always been prone to these things. He’s as smart as they come and can be totally charming when he’s up and about and occasionally a total boor. He’s sensitive by nature, which I always think of as a gift bestowed upon us, but it’s a gift with inherent risk. It opens up a door in us through which heightened experience and insight may enter, but on the far side of those is the shadow that can be debilitating – doubt and despair and withering disappointment.

My friend is one of those who can be up and buoyant and occasionally manic, but also almost immobilised by melancholy. When he’s like that, I worry that he won’t look after himself as he should. He becomes apathetic and listless. His thoughts are morose and pessimistic.

He’s got health issues now, which require discipline from him, but I doubt he cares enough to make the necessary effort. When I last spoke to him – he’s interstate – he basically shrugged his shoulders, and he had cancelled on something we discussed he needed to do.

I feel some responsibility for him, maybe because I think I know him better than anyone. And because I know I can help.

My issues seem trivial alongside his, and my perspective is shifted.

I realise that while there are things I need to overcome, they don’t threaten my existence – far from it. I realise how resilient I am and remember the storms I have weathered. I know that no matter how bad things appear, there’s a part of me that will remain true and strong. I’m not made for that terminal failure because I have a bedrock of self-discipline mixed in with self-belief and a perverse pig-headedness.

I might indulge in lairy risk from time to time because it’s fun, but there’s something measured at the heart of me. I’ll do the right thing because it’s my nature, and it seems something that others have recognised in me for many years. I’m seen as reliable, steadfast, trustworthy

And strong. I can be strong for me, but I want to be strong for him now also. Right now, all that constitutes is touching base with him regularly and remaining bright and positive. Nothing negative, no judgement, everything encouraging. And it means opening up and engaging with my true self. He needs to know that he’s loved and that life is a gift that needs to be embraced. I’ll be there when he comes around and knows it for himself.

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