by David Burton
‘Dave,’ he said, ‘What’s up?’
In the close darkness of the lounge room, with a Bond film on mute, I whispered my pain through tears.
‘I don’t understand,’ I kept saying. ‘I just want her.’
Dad nodded. He’d had a girlfriend before Mum. He had felt the same way about her. I never even knew that.
‘I know this is awful,’ he said, ‘and there’s nothing that I can say to make it go away. I can only tell you that it gets better with time. If you get through this, if you overcome this, you’ll never look back. This’ll be the making of you.’
I went to bed in the wee small hours.
I had survived the day.
19
How to Be Unhappy
‘The first thing you need to do is realise how serious this is.’ Gary’s face was stern. ‘You’re in the middle of a severe depressive episode. If you don’t take meaningful steps to help your recovery, then we really need to make decisions. You may need to be hospitalised.’
Right. Wow. Okay.
Hospitalised?
I imagined myself in a white room, in a white bed, with white furniture. It would feel nice to not have control over my own life anymore, to give up any sense of responsibility. But the embarrassment would be too painful to bear.
‘I just feel so alone,’ I found myself saying.
‘Do you have friends to talk to?’ he asked.
I started to list off my mates.
Amber.
Ravi.
Nina.
Donna and Ted.
I was going to continue, but Gary’s relieved laughter interrupted the list.
‘You need to talk to these people,’ he said. ‘Most people in your position are very much alone. They have difficulty building long-lasting or meaningful relationships. You need to use the support you’ve been given. That’s your homework for this week.’
When I walked out of the Gary’s office that night, Ravi and Nina were waiting for me on the kerb. Nina was clutching a hot water bottle and complaining of period pain. Ravi was smoking a cigarette. He gave me a hug. We went to a park, got lost in the dark, and played on the play equipment like we were children again. It had been raining all day, but it had cleared as the moon rose. I raced to the top of a slide, encouraged by Ravi.
‘Wait,’ I yelled out once I was at the top. ‘Is it wet down the bottom?’
There was a brief pause.
‘No,’ came the reply from them both.
I went for it and landed with a large splash at the bottom.
My pants were soaked. I looked like I had shat myself. We laughed a lot.
On our way back, the three of us traipsed into a service station. Ravi’s car was precariously low on fuel and Ravi was low on funds. He was wearing sunglasses, despite the fact that it was pitch-black night. Nina was clutching her hot water bottle and nursing her head. I was thin, gaunt, and looked like I’d had a burst of diarrhoea down the back of my pants.
The gormless young man at the counter didn’t know what to make of us as we fought over which ice-cream we would buy with our small handful of change. We lined up at the counter, and Ravi inserted his card into the machine.
He turned to me, and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘Fingers crossed everybody.’
I burst into giggles. This was the funniest thing I had ever heard. Seconds later, Ravi and Nina were giggling too. The look of concern on the man’s face only made it worse, and we sputtered out of the place.
I laughed for a very long time. I hadn’t laughed properly in months.
We found ourselves on top of the water tower, a place we had visited regularly back in uni days, bringing fish and chips or some other greasy dinner. The city was quiet below us. Somewhere out there, I thought, are people just like me. People who are ending their own lives. Or people who feel the pressure slowly mounting, pushing them towards breaking point. Those people are not on top of a water tower with two friends beside them.
So I breathed deep and I told Nina and Ravi everything.
Ravi said nothing. He just hugged me. It was a very long, very strong hug.
Nina took a moment. And then she looked me in the eye. ‘If you had done that,’ she began, ‘I wouldn’t have been able to forgive you. I don’t think I would’ve been able to go to your funeral. That’s a cowardly thing to do David, and you’re not a coward. You’re better than that. Don’t do that kind of bullshit.’
I nodded. Her reaction surprised me and shook me. I’ve thought of her words often in the time since.
For the umpteenth time in my life, I told my friends and family that I hadn’t been entirely honest with them. But this confession was far more awful than an admission of sexuality. I didn’t feel anxiety this time. I felt shame. Nina’s response, and Gary’s laughter, made me realise just how closed off I had been.
Donna and I went out to dinner. I didn’t know how to tell her, I proposed the whole thing like an absurdist joke. ‘And then I realised that I couldn’t GAS myself! Typical!’
Donna’s eyes became hollow and sad. She said, very quietly, ‘You know Dave, if you ever did that, I’d have to tell my sons what had happened to you. They love you a lot, Dave. Please don’t make me do that.’
Yes. Fair enough.
I couldn’t bring myself to tell Amber. I was deeply ashamed that I hadn’t talked to her properly. But like all good sisters, she understood, and she began a fierce campaign to provide support for me.
It was the small things, in that time, that helped. Like midnight visits to a playground, or a trip to the movies, or a phone call to talk about bullshit. I didn’t really want to talk about what was happening with me. I didn’t want anyone to look at me with pity and say, ‘So, how are you?’ That was the quickest way to get me to retreat. It was just about my mates being my mates, and just being around. That helped. That saved my life.
I moved back home with Mum and Dad and the twins. Not having to worry about rent or food released enough pressure in my head for me to start thinking about how I might avoid ending up in a dark place again.
For the first time since I was thirteen, I wasn’t consumed with concern about making sure I was liked and popular. I wasn’t worried about finding a new personality. I knew I wouldn’t lose Ravi, Amber and Nina. They were good friends who had my back. I didn’t have to worry about pleasing them. My parents graciously accepted me back into the house. I had support.
But I had been on the other side of this relationship a few times before. I had tried furiously to fix Mary, and had only run myself into the ground in the process. I knew the ultimate responsibility for my wellbeing lay with me. I needed to get myself better.
I picked up a new teaching contract and a couple of paying theatre projects.
I wandered through daily life in a quiet daze, not quite sure how I had ended up back in a house with my family.
I usually woke up earlier than anyone else in the house, just as the sun was rising. I would drag myself to the kitchen and flick the kettle on. A cup of tea later, I would sit down to emails and daily business. I may have had some meetings
later in the day, but I was usually done with the majority of my work by ten in the morning. I would prepare another cup of tea, turn on the radio, and listen to the ABC while I completed three or four sudoku puzzles. There was something about this little morning routine that kept me calm. I felt my brain slow down into a natural hushed rhythm.
By early afternoon, I would become slightly restless. I needed to put my energy into something. I went in search of a complicated recipe. Layered chocolate cakes. Gnocchi in a special sauce. Golden-syrup dumplings. I put the audiobook of Eat Pray Love on my iPod and made an utter mess of the kitchen. By the end of the afternoon I had built a bizarre menu. Some dishes were fantastic successes, others were dismal failures. The end result didn’t bother me that much. I was grateful that my hands and mind had been kept busy.
In the evening I’d have a glass of wine with dinner, but this was my only consumption of alcohol. By virtue of the fact that I was living with my family, I’d also abandoned my occasional pot use.
Overall, life felt simple and calm. I felt alone—but it wasn’t scary.
Actually, it was kind of nice.
Happiness was a concept that still confused me, but I certainly felt peaceful. Anxiety dripped away while I built this little routine for myself. It took a lot of time.
Many days were boring. There were shit days too.
One evening, when the rest of the house had gone to bed, I was mindlessly flicking through Facebook. Dani had been tagged in a video. The play button stared back at me, waiting to be pressed. I could see from the blurry still image that I was unlikely to enjoy what I saw. It was Dani on a dark dance floor, with a man nearby.
I should turn off my computer and go to bed, I thought.
I hit play.
Dani danced, slow and flirtatious, with a man I didn’t recognise. Music thumped in the background. Whoever had the camera was laughing. It was thirty seconds long.
My breath shortened. I felt like throwing up. My skin pricked alive. I wanted to rip it off. I needed to punch something. Or myself. Or that guy in the video. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t wake the house. I wasn’t even thinking about the video now. I just felt pain. Hot, red pain through my entire body.
I lay on the floor, curled into a ball, and sobbed.
‘Okay, and what happened next?’
Gary sat across from me, legs crossed. I shifted in my seat as I thought back.
‘I stayed there for a while, and then I went to bed.’
‘How did you feel afterwards?’
‘Empty. Exhausted.’
Gary nods. ‘Sounds like you had a panic attack.’
‘Just from seeing a video?’ I asked, disappointed. ‘That’s so pathetic.’
‘Is that something you tell yourself often?’
‘What?’
‘That you’re pathetic?’
I pause for a moment. ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘What else do you tell yourself?’
‘Um…’ I close my eyes. The question makes me uncomfortable. Maybe if I’m quiet for long enough he’ll ask something else. But there’s nothing. That plan never works. Gary has patience plus. I sigh and attempt to answer. ‘I think I’m weak…I don’t know…um…pathetic’s a pretty big one.’
Gary nods for a moment before speaking. ‘I think it’s important for you to start recognising what you’ve been through. You don’t strike me as a weak person. You strike me as someone who spends a lot of time beating himself up. Would you agree?’
I’m not sure where this is going. ‘I…yeah…I don’t know.’
‘You spend a lot of time thinking about things you should be doing, or punishing yourself for not living up to some expectation.’
‘But it’s pretty pathetic, isn’t it? One video and I have a panic attack? It’s been three months. I should be over her by now.’
‘Says who?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Me.’
Gary smiles. ‘Let me put it to you this way. If you had Amber or Ravi come up to you and say they’d been through all of this—that they’d been through a break-up, that they’d been diagnosed with depression and anxiety, felt sad enough to want to kill themselves and then they’d had a panic attack from watching a video of their ex—what would you say to them? Would you say they were pathetic?’
Godammit. He had a point.
‘No,’ I relented.
‘So why are you holding yourself to that standard?’
Silence. I didn’t have an answer for him.
‘David, you need to give yourself permission to feel certain things. You’ve been running away from your feelings for a long time. A very long time. You’re in a safe place where you’re allowed to actually process some of those emotions. However that happens is okay. You’ve got to let it come out. Otherwise you won’t ever get through to the other side.’
I ran a hand through my hair. I was frustrated. He made it sound so easy.
‘It’s hard.’
Gary nodded. ‘Yeah, it really is. But you’re capable of it. You’re not weak.’
‘I feel weak.’
‘You can’t fight this kind of thing. Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve spent a lot of time fighting how you feel. How has that fight gone so far?’
‘Not great.’
‘The fight is exhausting. In order to get through this kind of thing you have to give yourself permission to feel it.’
He had uncrossed his legs and was leaning forward. He was really trying to make this clear to me. It kind of made sense. Was that really all there was to it? I just had to surrender to all the feelings inside me?
‘How do I actually do that? And isn’t it dangerous?’ I asked.
‘Well, do you want to kill yourself anymore?’
I thought for a moment. The dark thoughts hadn’t had a violent intensity ever since I had shared them with Donna, Ravi and Nina. ‘No,’ I replied.
‘Well then,’ he said. ‘What are you going to do next?’
It’s six months later, and Nina and I are driving to go get some lunch.
‘When are you going to move out of your parents’ place?’ she asked.
I hadn’t thought about it. The free rent made life easy. But in the last few weeks I had found the lack of privacy more and more irritating. Maybe I was ready to move out again.
‘I could move out!’ I said aloud, thinking about it properly for the first time.
‘Yeah,’ Nina laughed. ‘You could.’
Later, Amber and Ravi applauded the idea. But all of my friends were tied up in lease agreements. I would have to live by myself.
The idea was instantly alluring. A whole place to myself. Independent. Not defined by anybody. Mine.
I found a flat that I loved on the other side of town, packed up and moved. On my first night there, Ravi, Amber and Nina came around. We watched reality television and ate roast chicken that I made in my very own oven. Then they went home. And I washed up and went to bed.
&n
bsp; I wish I could tell you it was more dramatic than that. But I was done with drama. A peaceful and normal evening with friends and without anxiety was something I thought I could never reach. Now I had found it, I never wanted to go back.
My biggest achievement during that time was learning how to be unhappy. You would think I had become an expert at this, but in fact I’d been doing it all wrong.
Sometimes, unhappiness is near impossible to avoid. Bad things happen. And it’s important to be sad. It doesn’t make you weak.
Of course it wasn’t as simple as my psychologist snapping his fingers and giving me permission to feel emotions. We spent a lot of time talking about mindfulness, a practice where you train your brain to sit in stillness. I studied meditation. I tried to develop a habit of exercise. I constantly pushed myself to be more honest about what I was feeling with myself and my friends.
Important questions still remained.
Without high school, without uni, without a relationship—who was I? Who was I when nobody was watching?
Gradually, the thought of myself alone in the void didn’t scare me anymore. It didn’t send me running for a new relationship, label or career. I was able to find peace within it. I came to terms with my unhappiness. It didn’t have such a dangerous grip on me anymore. It took a whole lot of time and a whole bunch of work. But I was up for it. I wanted to be happy. I was sick of feeling awful. I chose to do what I could to find happiness.
I’m twenty-two. I sit alone in my unit. I’ve just showered. I have cookbooks open around me. I’m deciding what I’ll make today. I have a deadline for a script that I’ll dash off soon, before running over to the theatre and taking a youth drama class. It’s Amber’s birthday in a week, and I need to answer the Facebook stream and make a final decision for a celebratory venue.