My mental block

Ryan Pennington

It is a truism that when you are in the dark, it is nearly impossible to see the light. The despair and hopelessness you feel is not necessarily representative of reality. Climate change, for all its dangers, is not enough to end humanity; the species has survived such straits before, and worse ones even than this. You worry for the collapse of society? It may happen. Yet society is not the species, and though the world is so much more connected and interdependent than it was in the past, it is also true that civilizations have fallen in the past. Yet they were not the end. Nor will it be for us. You despair for the greed that underpins the material wealth of modern society? So be it. It need not triumph. The roadmap of the future has as many paths to success as it does to failure. Things will get worse, but they will get better after; that is the nature of things. Yes, much will be lost, but as much and possibly more will be gained. You despair because you look at the progress and promise of the past and see it in decline; this is the cycle of history. What is now will not always be, but what will be is most likely merely different rather than nothing at all. Why do I qualify my statements? Because I am no more a seer than you. We who write to bring hope for the future must know above all that we are not gods, we do not see the whole span of history laid out before us. We are human, we are fallible, but most of all, we do not know. Your fears are not new, not novel; they are common when old paradigms fall to make room for the new. You despair because you see your country moving backwards, actively trying to regress rather than move toward the future? It happens. The idea that human civilization is a process of constant improvement and progress is a romantic notion that has not been the common one for much of human history. Because of our technological advancements, which are admittedly unprecedented in the history of the species, we tend to see ourselves as special, as somehow better than those who came before us. This is not true. We are no more intelligent, no wiser than our predecessors. We make the same mistakes they did, and because they were no less human than us, we will follow the same paths they did. We rise and fall like the tides, if not so regular. This is not to say we should not try to improve; never that. As individuals, we have the responsibility to work for the betterment of both ourselves and the world we inhabit. Yet that does not mean we will always succeed, nor that we must. What we must do, what we must remember, is that though we ourselves may fail, there will remain others who can continue on. The hope is always here, always alive, and only our fierce caring can fan it into a fire to warm the world. Yet hope is not surety. What then, if our hope should fail? Shall we despair, we who see the end beyond all doubt? No. As the poem says: Rage, rage against the dying of the light. If your pen cannot write of hope, write of wrath; castigate the world, curse the greedy fools who have wrought our end. Let us pass not with a whimper, but with a great cry of wrath. But we need not do this. The end is never certain. What you see as hopeless is as likely to be a sign merely of change, not annihilation. All is not lost. All is never lost. Never believe it. With all I have said, I must now ask the difficult, personal questions. You have written of despair; I have myself have felt as though I stood before the yawning void that seeks to encompass both world and life. It is an insidious thing, depression. Because it originates within us, it speaks with our own voice, our own thoughts, and so the rational mind assumes that the despair it speaks of is itself rational. Listening to that voice will draw us down into nigh-inescapable darkness and despair. Almost always, we can only escape with the help of others. Have you spoken to anyone? A friend? A family member? A therapist? We tend to deride the last, thinking ourselves weak or therapists ineffectual or only for those who have "problems." But everyone has problems, and a therapist, even if you don't have clinical depression, is an impartial ear to speak into. I truly believe that everyone should visit a therapist at least once a year, even if their lives are otherwise happy. The ability to speak to someone who has a different perspective from oneself and no other connection to one's life is a gift not to be taken lightly. Speak to one. Air your fears, your grievances. You will find you are not alone, and that you need not suffer alone, or perhaps even not at all. I won't speak of medication; that is a thing to discuss with a medical professional. It can help, but it can also hurt, and so I won't give any more recommendations. But perhaps you have already taken these steps? I don't know; I don't know any more of you than the stories you've written and this post I'm replying to. If you *have* taken these steps? If you *have* spoken to someone about your fears? Then I can only say to take what I said earlier to heart: hope is not lost; we may yet pull through. I wish you, and truly, all the very best.