I really love my William James class. It’s not so much the subject matter (although it is that, too) but the teacher. I really like Dr. Paulsen. He’s the kind of man whose books are all tattery and written in, and when anyone asks a question he flips through the pages until he finds what he’s looking for and then reads James, and lets him answer the question. I can just picture him spending weekends and evenings with his books, reading and familiarizing himself with every aspect of what’s being said. He expects us to do the same. Granted, I’m not so good at reading it all before class, but as we read quite a bit in class we’re all able to participate. He doesn’t really plan anything more than a small “introduction” to each day- and then lets the class lead the discussion with their questions. Now, usually, I HATE it when teachers do that. But USUALLY it means that they were too lazy to prepare anything, and just let the class dictate what’s going on. Paulsen, however, does the harder thing. He IS prepared, he knows the content in and out, and has to shape our conversations with his answers to our questions. He gets us to go where we’re meant to go, but he lets us figure it out on our own. Very Socratic.
So anyway….The topic of discussion today was on a section entitled, “The sick soul.” We’ve already talked about those people who are born, and just never seem to sense or fear evil. They are blissfully unaware of hatred or spitefulness, and just do their thing. On the other hand, James related a time when he visiting an insane asylum and saw a boy sitting on a wall- his knees pulled up under his jumpsuit, not moving, just staring. He said he seemed competely idiotic, still like a mummy or some other horrible, un-dead thing. It wasn’t the seeing that was the problem, more the remembering. James described the fear that it caused in him- so much so that he wanted life to be taken from him before he had a chance to become like the boy. And there were other examples, too, of deep, severe depression that led people to want to give up their own lives. Not take their life, necessarily, but definitely give it.
It got me to thinking. I am not so naive (even though John would say that I am. And maybe my Mom and Dad. and Jonathan.) I am a little bit naive to things at times…but I know that evils exists, and pain and suffering. But, at the same time, I have never in my entire life, not even once, wished that I had not been born. I’ve never felt such despair that I wanted to die. It’s interesting to me, because it actually seems like a lot of people do, at one time or another. Don’t get me wrong- I have been deeply, deeply sad. So sad that I didn’t know what to do with myself. Usually this sadness came because of something relating to my family. I can remember a couple of instances when crying simply wasn’t enough- I almost made myself sick sobbing, and then could do nothing but just sit, thinking the pain would never go away and that I’d never get my happiness back again. I felt true, deep sadness. It could have been close to despair- I did feel like I had no control and could do nothing, but I don’t know how to gage it. I thought I was losing someone, but it was certain yet. Most of my unhappiness has been in the form on anxiety. It was, at times, crippling. I didn’t want to leave my home, I felt scared to go places or try things. I was overwhelemed easily. So….I went back to school, I took trips to DC, I went on a mission. I drove or flew as far away from my comfort zone as I could, to PROVE to myself that I was stronger than fears about life. Again, I think we all go through that fear stage, from time to time. Again, those times were trying and scary, but I never would have chosen to end life as a result.
I don’t know if I am extraordinarily blessed, or just haven’t “hit it” yet, but I really hope I never get to a point when I would have preferred not to be born. When I think about it, it may have everything to do with the people in my life. When I went through something as a kid, I always had someone to talk to. I remember a few times, usually when my feelings were hurt by a friend at school, or I was embarressed because of some boy (always a boy) my mom would just hug me and tell me that I was beautiful and loved and that everything would be ok. I don’t think she knows what a big difference that made in who I was becoming. I could believe her, because I knew she meant it. And my Dad who always valued whatever I put forward- no matter what it was. He told me that he thought it was cool, and that I was smart, and that I could do anything. And my little brother who just wanted to do things with me, and who STILL comes to my house sometimes, just because. I have been so, so very blessed. I think those things make all the difference in the development of someone’s soul- and now, that I have found someone that I love and am married to, I chose someone who supports all those things in me as well. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, but because I was accustomed to being treated in a certain way, I found someone who loves me in the way that my family does. And I hope I do the same for him. I try, anyway. And hope that I’m not a selfish person.
Ok, that was long and drawn out. But I think you get the point. Now I’m NOT trying to say that people are depressed or want to die because people don’t love them enough. Sometimes, something simply, happens. With all the love and support in the world, sometimes, life can just be harder. But for me, I think, it made the difference between having these types of feelings….and not. So…these are the musings I had during class. That’s all for now.
