Last weekend, I took my 13-year-old to watch Kung Fu Panda 4 at the movie theater. Okay, so it may have been against his will (“Isn’t that a little too childish for me now, Mama?!”) and I may have been laughing louder than anyone else there. But, as with most animated films these days, there was plenty of spiritual wisdom on offer. One of the film’s main characters, a felonious fox named Zhen, grew up an orphan in rough and tumble Juniper City. Her mentor taught her these three rules for surviving life on the streets:
Never trust anyone.
Someone will always get hurt; make sure it’s not you.
Nobody cares about your feelings.
When I heard that last one, I thought, wait, these aren’t just rules to survive street life in the animated realm. These are the same rules we follow in our “live action” world, which is starting to look more and more like the most nefarious version of mafia life we could ever imagine. It makes sense then that Zhen’s third rule for living on the streets contains one of the dirtiest words you could possibly use in our world today - feelings.
Nobody cares about your feelings.
Maybe that’s why we came up with magic pills, like anti-depressants, to do away with some of the peskier feelings like pain. I would never undermine anti-depressants because those magic pills were a lifeline for me 20 years ago. On and off, throughout that time, they’ve been my survival tool, but perhaps also, my crutch. Recently, I felt called to let them go (not something I’d advise anyone to do without professional help), and have been slowly and responsibly reducing my dosage to minimize side effects and withdrawal symptoms. Minimize, but not completely avoid.
Five days into my decision, I felt unusually weepy and disconnected. These were emotions my meds had protected me from in the past. It’s not that I’d never been weepy before, even when I was on the meds, but somehow this time felt different. Taking the meds had been my attempt at taking control of my life and my moods. Now I’m back to feeling that uncontrollable sense of falling with no one around to catch me. Disconcerted as I am, I’m also realizing my depression was never really the problem in the first place; it was the problematic system we created that made me think my depression was abnormal. A system that was built to invalidate people’s feelings. A system that chose instead to intellectualize those feelings, and assess people’s worth based on their productivity and functioning, much like we assess robots. A system in which feelings are considered contagious, like the flu, and thus, dangerous and in need of quarantine.
Yet as humans, it isn’t only our advanced intellect that differentiates us from animals. It’s also our expanded capacity for love, empathy, and compassion, our heightened awareness of soul. The very things that are starkly missing on the world stage right now, as animals masked in human attire emotionlessly enact Machiavellian schemes to manipulate the masses into playing by their rules. Which rules are those, you ask? The same ones Zhen followed - the rules of the street, the mafia, the murderous, the genocidal.
As individuals, our depression has never been the problem. The powers-that-be have done such a convincing job of twisting our disconnection from their brutish rules into mental illness, making us seem like the problem rather than a symptom of the flawed system that idolizes intellect over heart and soul. In truth, our power always lay in our pain; they just never wanted us to know it.
Maybe all I needed back then, and even today, was love and support, a friend or family member to witness my pain and help me process it. But who has the time for such things anymore? Time is too valuable a commodity to waste on a Debbie Downer. Time sprints by so fast, it’s no wonder anxiety is on the rise, too. So much to do, so little time. This illusion of lack, of urgency, festers in us like poison, ruining any chances we have of cultivating curiosity and joy, reveling in the slow burn of romance, basking in beauty, and savoring sweetness. Time is money, baby! Time is money. And Money. Is. Everything.
People tell me I’m naive, idealistic to a fault; that’s why I’ll never succeed, never “amount” to anything (just look at the quantifying language we use to talk about ourselves). But I believe they’re the naive ones, because they’ve fully bought into this “survival of the fittest”, Hunger Games world, where the privileged few ravenously feast their eyes on us, as we either battle it out in the arena or self-destruct. The handsomely rewarded victors are allowed to keep surviving so long as they continue to buy into a system which I cannot help but see through. This system is so antagonistic to our inborn humanity, so potent in its poison, that it’s becoming harder and harder for all of us to pretend we can’t see its facade breaking before our eyes.
Perhaps this was why I felt called to dump the anti-depressants. I wanted to feel myself falling again, to face the disconnection, to scream in agony from the pain and suffering skinning me alive from within, a direct reflection of the pain and suffering all over the world. In Sudan and Syria. Among the Ukrainians and Uyghurs. Of the children who are starved and carpet bombed in Gaza. The children who are sex trafficked in Nigeria. The children who are forcibly married off in South Asia. The children who are shot to death in school in the United States of America.
These days, the lines between fact and fiction are so blurred, one can almost be forgiven for getting the two mixed up. Reality shows broadcast everything but reality. Mainstream media vomit lie upon lie, backed by false footage. Social media actually helps highlight hidden suffering, while stand-up comedy specials let us laugh and cry at the hypocrisy of it all, the absolute absurdity, the nonsensicality.
That’s what the meds were doing for me I think - blurring the lines between fact and fiction. Making me numb, making me believe I didn’t have feelings, just so I could survive in a system that I never actually belonged to, in the first place.
Now, by ditching the meds, I’m embracing the pain. It’s like yelling from the rooftops, “I DON’T BELONG HERE! I DON’T WANT TO BELONG HERE!” My Inner Rebel is taking over the reigns and deciding…she wants…to slow…the fuck…down. Re-connect with her Inner Child. Realize the wisdom of animated movies has always held more substance than the inarticulate gibberish spewing out of the mouth of any modern-day sitting president or prime minister.
So how do we survive life on the streets? Well, here are my suggested rules for celebrating life on any street:
BE(lieve in) LOVE.
Call out the crap.
Live in unity because everyone belongs and everyone is equal.
Naive? Perhaps.
But I’d choose naivete over being a numb, nihilistic Netenyahu any day.
Who said we needed pills to create magic? The biggest lie ever told is that we never had magical powers of our own. As the waking, walking wounded, our powers lie in our pain and our ability to transform bitterness, with the swell of our hearts, into love, empathy, and compassion - those dirty words that terrify the mafia, strong enough to smear their black and white world into gorgeous shades of gray.
I, however, prefer to think of these feelings as magical states of being. No prescription necessary.
Flippin' hell, Nida. Another incredible, powerful piece. Thank you, thank you, for giving your voice words and sharing them with us. I always leave your pieces feeling so inspired and challenged - they always open me up to more growth, more vision and more truth. This one particularly is so stark, so poignant and powerful. Thank you for being such a wonderful, insightful human being. 💛💛💛
I hate you.
You speak truth to Power so eloquently, that trying to pick a particular quote to re-stack causes me to reach for my Klonopin. (which I, incidentally, am in the process of weaning myself off as well.)
I could’ve picked this quote:
“A system in which feelings are considered contagious, like the flu, and thus, dangerous and in need of quarantine.”
Or:
“The powers-that-be have done such a convincing job of twisting our disconnection from their brutish rules into mental illness, making us seem like the problem rather than a symptom of the flawed system that idolizes intellect over heart and soul.”
Do you see my point? It’s powerful stuff, back to back to back. (I personally avoid politics— I have to for my own sanity— and I would never “take sides“ in any conflict, because, if I did, it would be clear that I believe that the ever-formidable (and ambiguous) “THEY” are behind everything.
That being said, I do believe in LOVE. It is in my every step, and not wanting to fall, requires my attention.