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Thanks to reader Larry Parker for directing me to the story “Darkness Invisible” by Daphe Merkin in the New York Times Magazine last month. It is a powerful commentary on the public’s response to the suicide attempt of Owen Wilson. I’ve included below the entire article, because I couldn’t figure out which paragraphs to excerpt. All of them are important.
Here is the question lurking behind the recent news of Owen Wilson’s suicide bid: In a culture that encourages outing everything from incest to pedophilia, is depression the last stigma, the one remaining subject that dares not gossip its name? Does a disclosure about depression, especially from someone who seems to have it all, violate an unspoken code of silence — or, at the least, make us radically uncomfortable with its suggestion of a blithe public face masking a troubled inner life?
Most of us have experienced the everyday, transient blues — the emotions nibbling around the edges of depression (whether they manifest themselves as a sense of malaise, dejection or comic-tinged despair) that can be brought on by a shift in the weather or an unfortunate event. They may be chronic yet benign, the sort of moroseness that causes the narrator of Camus’s “Stranger” to stand around listlessly puffing on a cigarette. Sadness is probably more endemic to the human subtext than sanguine spirits, which is why funereal songs like Billie Holiday’s “Gloomy Sunday” strike a universal chord and why Freud conjectured that “ordinary unhappiness” (as opposed to what he called “hysterical misery”) was the best the talking cure could hope to achieve.
The romance of melancholy — a style of self-presentation marked by an appealing air of ennui — has been with us since Hamlet. It is perhaps best expressed in the opening of Chekhov’s “Seagull,” when Masha, asked why she always wears black, replies, “I am in mourning for my life.” But a poetic conception that tethers creativity to a despondent temperament is also misleading, discounting as it does how unproductively crippling the malady can be.
Depression — the real hard stuff — is not chic, and it doesn’t sell tickets. It is a clinical illness urgently requiring treatment, usually hit-or-miss medication that tinkers with serotonin or dopamine levels. I am referring to the sort of condition that subverts lives, making it difficult to talk to people and impossible to leave the house. At its worst, it can spiral into the sort of suicidal ideation that requires hospitalization, or into suicide.
From a young age, I have intermittently found myself in this painful, barren zone. Each time it occurs, I am struck by how paralyzing and isolating the experience is; it remains essentially impenetrable to people who can’t (or don’t care to) distinguish it from a random bad day. For all that it is acknowledged to be a disease afflicting millions — we are as much a Prozac Nation as a Fast Food Nation — depression remains culturally quarantined. The revelation that Wilson may be afflicted with a physiological vulnerability to the downward pull — to the sort of self-annihilating impulse best described in William Styron’s “Darkness Visible” — simultaneously fascinates us and causes us to avert our gaze.
Wilson, a 38-year-old light-as-air actor and sometime screenwriter, was a golden-haired member of the Frat Pack, the last person you would associate with a long, concealed history of this disease. He suggests that more familiar construction: a bachelor who ran in a fast crowd, used hard drugs and flipped when his romance with another movie star went sour. According to this scenario, Wilson slit his wrist because he spotted a candid of his ex, Kate Hudson, smooching a new man in a grocery store — as if life obligingly played itself out as a series of press-ready storyboards: Girl dumps boy. Girl moves on to new boy. Ex-boy tries to kill himself. Shoot and print. He becomes just another funny man harboring an inner sad sack — a “Tears of a Clown” syndrome — alongside Robin Williams and Richard Pryor.
However you parse Wilson’s desperate act, it is clear that in an instant-fix, cure-all culture — one in which we habitually reduce fraught real-life dramas into smart-alecky quips on late-night talk shows — we want instant-fix, cure-all answers. Addiction and recovery sagas are by now more boring than heartrending, but they go down smoothly and are media-pleasing. These versions of psychological mayhem sidestep the complex interior drama of self-destruction — Lindsay Lohan’s father visits her in rehab! — and thereby allow us off the hook. How much thought can you give to yet another celebrity who checks in and out of a $1,600-a-day rehab center as if it were Canyon Ranch?
Put it this way: It’s one thing for Wilson to draw upon his familiarity with “the black dog” (as Winston Churchill called it) in order to co-write “The Royal Tenenbaums,” a darkly funny movie about an unhappy family of grown-up child prodigies that includes a lovelorn sibling (played by Wilson’s own brother, Luke) who tries to kill himself. That’s entertainment, diverting in a poignant way. But it’s another thing to be the guy with everything who tries to take his own life. That’s threatening, suggesting a failure of will that might prove contagious — or worse, capsize box-office investment.
People who want to end it all have lost the necessary illusions that make life bearable; the sources of their pain are impossible to pinpoint but all the same infect the air they breathe. The defining tragedy of severe depression is that it comes without an objective correlative like a white plaster cast. This makes it easy to mistake those who suffer from this disorder for people who, with a little coaxing — a dinner with friends or a distracting movie like “Wedding Crashers” (starring, Lord help us, Owen Wilson) — might bounce back the following day.
Perhaps this is what makes depression dangerous to scrutinize too closely. If we don’t keep it at arm’s length, it might implicate us in a way that the coked-up antics of the Rehab Gang fail to. Which is why it is all the more important that when it ravages those who seem as if they should be riding high, it isn’t spun merely as a side effect of addiction or heartbreak. It is an illness that deserves to be given its due, uneasy as it may make us.
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Therese J. Borchard writes the daily blog, Beyond Blue, on Beliefnet and is a regular contributor to the award-winning blog, World of Psychology, on Psych Central. Therese is the author of Beyond Blue: Surviving Depression & Anxiety and Making the Most of Bad Genes and The Pocket Therapist: An Emotional Survival Kit. Subscribe to Beyond Blue, visit her website, or follow her on Twitter @thereseborchard.
Meet others on the journey in
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Therese J. Borchard writes the daily blog, Beyond Blue, on Beliefnet and is a regular contributor to the award-winning blog, World of Psychology, on Psych Central. Therese is the author of Beyond Blue: Surviving Depression & Anxiety and Making the Most of Bad Genes and The Pocket Therapist: An Emotional Survival Kit. Subscribe to Beyond Blue, visit her website, or follow her on Twitter @thereseborchard.
posted October 16, 2007 at 12:15 pm
We’ve talked recently on BB about the difficulties in sorting out moral responsibility when there is a dual diagnosis (alcohol/drug abuse and depression) — as I vaguely recall, Therese (PLEASE forgive me if I’m wrong), there was in your case. (Hey, I medicated myself with alcohol for years, not knowing what I had — and when I quit drinking, the depression soon enough broke through.)
Maybe one of the problems with Hollywoodizing depression is that, in many cases (including, alas, Owen Wilson’s), substance abuse has been implicated. Which makes it much easier for the mass media, even in the Prozac era, to still label depression as a disease of character flaws rather than of faulty brain wiring and chemistry.
posted October 17, 2007 at 5:55 am
It is 2:36 AM. I almost didn’t go to work today’cause I was depressed and made lethargic by thus. After work I fumbled around with the various tasks of my life, found I hadn’t the will to accomplish any of them. My grandkids called, I didn’t answer, in my depression it is so hard to be with them. I prayed, i often find solace and rejuvination in it, such was not to be today. I took to my bed. I find the destruction of the will to be the most debilitating and frustrating of my depressive symptoms. It feeds my negative self image in hilighting my shortcomings. I have often said it is not a character flaw as the previous post says, but it often feels like such. These days of semi darkness are problematic, the days of deeper darkness inspire more of my defenses and I am called to battle. These days of laconic lack of will are so frustrating and lead me to much self flagilation. I isolate. My relationships are neglected. I hope they are not lost.
Thanks so much T. you are inspiration, so real, so open.
posted October 18, 2007 at 7:40 am
It’s another thing to be the guy with everything who tries to take his own life. That’s threatening, suggesting a failure of will that might prove contagious — or worse, capsize box-office investment.
I think it’s also threatening because it suggests a failure of our social values. If you really have everything, there’s no reason to kill yourself. Clearly, Owen Wilson doesn’t have everything; something is missing. That means that wealth, fame, and conspicuous consumption is not the answer, and that’s something to which our society often seems inclined to turn a blind eye.
posted October 18, 2007 at 12:31 pm
Thank you Therese and Larry. Excellent article!!
I have lost three to suicide and I know that my pain (at their loss) is nothing compared to theirs. They are never far from my thoughts and always in my heart.
posted October 19, 2007 at 12:06 am
When my (then) thirteen-year-old son lost one of his best friends to suicide I was aghast to think that one so young coud actually be so deep in the abyss that he could carefully plan and carry through such a plan of action! One of the most dibilitating things surrounding Michael’s death was the fact that he too seemed to have everything: popular, good-looking, athletic, a class standing which if not the number one spot signified success, an involved two-parent family with money (certainly more than I, as a (then) single mother could provide for our household. It took me some time to realize that by harboring those misconceptions I (and other parents) was in essence saying that it would have been “okay” if he had been from a broken home,been failing in school, warming various athletic benches and never invited to parties. What a fallacy; none of us could see or hear his pain because of the visible trappings f his life. And, of course, it would have been equally tragic if he HAD been one of the pitiful ones, but I doubt it would have garnered as much attention/questioning. The brutal truth is that we ALL wear public masks at various times in our lives because they help us function at “normal” ( There’s that WORD again!)levels or make others aroud us more comfortable in our presence. (God forbid that any of us allow OUR need for comfort to be seenor infringe on anyone else’s comfort zone! It’s clear that anyone who commits suicide, or even attempts it, is in more pain than most people can begin to fathom. I read something lately (perhaps it was here?) that really spoke to me. To paraphrase, it was that a suicide victim doesn’t want to kill him/herself; they just want to stop the pain within themselves. And can’t we ALL relate to that one? What a tragic comment on our society that we collectively appear to hold to a paradigm that SOME suicides are not only to be expected, but accepted (If the victim fits a certain stereotype)and it’s only when one of the “blessed” ones kills him/herself that we (again collectively) react with shock and outrage! I know that suicide is no respector ofnationality/cultural/ecconomic boundaries, but I’m also pretty sure that our country ranks among those at the high end of th spectrum. It would be interesting to study those countries/cultures which have the lower rankings and see what, if anything, we could learn from them. I personally would be interested in discovering if it’s “okay” in their culture(s) to admit to melancholy and not a requirement to mask it all the time. I echo the thanks of the above posts, Therese and Larry for reminding me of the lesson I (sort of) learned sixteen years ago
posted October 19, 2007 at 12:39 am
Margaret:
My first suicide attempt was at age 13
And lest you wonder why, check out my last post in the comboxes for Therese’s latest video blog of the week (the one on family therapy and her kids …).
I didn’t even mention the fact in that post that I was brutally bullied in my new school at that age, but you’ll get the idea of what my life (?) was like in 1982 soon enough
posted October 22, 2007 at 2:06 am
Iris, I like your comment. To that I’d like to say that I feel the
media has made too much of “Our readers want to know”. I am sorry for
his illness but understand it well.
My problems may be better or worse, but to me mine are all important.
I am not a celebrity so I do not have to add the fear factor to my
depression. It would bore your socks off.
I feel that whatever Owen is feeling, he would be better off if he didn’t have to see all of this publicity reminding him over and over.
Same goes for Lindsay Lohan or Brittany Spears. While substance abuse
is awful and getting “cured” from the illness is not assisted by media
who report all kinds of stories about these celebrities.
My last word is a lot of readers “do not want to know!” I have enough
to do to live my own life and other folks business is not mine.
posted October 22, 2007 at 3:25 am
I made the decision to take my life in the spring of 2005,my house was cleaned to perfection,I had taken a shower and even put on makeup.Clean sheets on the bed and new nightgown-until I looked into my dogs eyes he was sitting on the wrong side of the bed,instead of being in his dog bed,he sat anxiously at the bedside where all my pills were.He reminded me,who would take care of him?He had been at my side through out the whole time (at this point 8 years of severe depression.) I looked at him for a few minutes and then made the phone call to the crisis line, they had a bed for me the next day. My medications were changed and adjusted, I woke up 3 days later with a completely different outlook on life and for the first time in 8 years felt a sparkle of hope.What we tend to forget when we are depressed is that it CAN BE a very temporary condition.And also there is still a stigma for males to admit to depression.Which very well could have played a part in Owen Wilson’s not seeking help for his hurt.We all need to be a kinder more understanding people toward our neighbors, coworkers and family members……teri
posted October 22, 2007 at 5:11 am
Being DEPRESSED.Everyone has been there.Depression affects everyone differently.I am trying to overcome this horrible horrible feeling at this time in my life.I don’t know which way to turn.I have been to many medical doctors and they write me a prescription.I don’t want a prescription to mask what is going on with me.I don’t want a head doctor tell me that I have a mental problem.I don’t want to hear from family members or friends that I will be okay just give it time it will pass.I am trying everything.I know I am not ready to die.God only knows that.I find that reading things others have experiened or have done to fight this horrible disease and I mean HORRIBLE CONTROLLING DISEASE helps me understand this disease more.Just knowing Iam not alone and that others are experienceing what I am going through keeps my heart beating.
P.S. Pray God does listen.
posted October 25, 2007 at 9:13 am
It is unfortunate for those in the “limelight”, such as Owen Wilson, Richard Pryor, Robin Williams and the like, that their personal, private lives are anything but personal and private.
As someone dealing with depression, I know first-hand that it isn’t something you can control. You can’t just “stop acting” depressed. It is a chemical imbalance in your brain that comtrols YOU. And medication can make your manic and depressant episodes livable, as long as you don’t throw alcohol or drugs into the mix with your meds; which I have done. I can understand that people such as Owen, could want to take their lives, because I have tried to several times; being hospitalized and sedated,until I could deal with life on life’s terms again.
My prayers go out to all the people that deal with depression and have to live out each day. Good luck and God’s blessings to each one of you!
posted April 1, 2008 at 1:45 am
Hello I have been depressed at a very young age Iwas found in thewoods at the age of 3and could nt speak english and been molested raped beaten had a gun put to my head twice and son murded over drugs also my exhusand gave me a dease and got two weman pregant took money I do not know what to do have no money and afraid to be home less no training at all need suport if some on would email me some times Do you know that youall are all special to the lord and that we are all conected that we are here to help each other i deal with alot of anger I have a hard time I do not know any thing about money never had frieds have rats in my atticic did not have heat in my home for 4 years but I belive that you all are special I need to know how to care of my self beause I never had a mother or a father Donot have a bank account saving no car and very worry about my daughtes and no directions for my life lots of love to you all I do not take because I never been to many place I do not know how to pay bills we are need love