The ‘why’ question
hung ominously over a week with two headline suicides of high-achievers. That
they strived and succeeded while pursued by inner demons isn’t mysterious. Twas
ever thus. Desperation can be an effective engine. What is perplexing in Kate
Spade’s case is her fear of seeking treatment lest it upset her happy-face
brand image.
She wasn’t alone in
her resistance. Despite all the media hype about mental health awareness, there
is a shame about admitting to what are seen as psychological flaws. Bodies suffer from a multiplicity of
congenital ailments – diabetes, heart, digestive and skin conditions. Few
arrive perfectly formed so why should the synapses and neurological structure
of the brain be the exception?
The stigma about
madness increases and prolongs the suffering of former soldiers, blighted by
PTSD. It’s seen as weakness in a way that a physical injury is not. Drop a
hundred-pound weight on your foot and bones will break. Why should the mind be
any different? Life can drive people mad if conditions are extreme enough.
I’ve never suffered
from catatonic depression, suicidal impulses or manic highs so why did I embark
on a long and at times painful psychological journey? When I was 20 I thought I
was the sanest person I knew. By my mid-thirties, despite being professionally
successful, I could see myself locked into recurring patterns of behaviour and
relationships, which weren’t exactly my fault but clearly had some baffling
connection to me. Once is bad luck, twice a coincidence, more than that it was
down to me. 
What made it easier
was moving to London, which was awash with a rainbow array of guides into the
deeper recesses of the psyche. Being away from home also helped, since there
was no need for embarrassing explanations. My first counsellor
was a truly lovely man, spiritual and transpersonal in inclination. He disliked
coping with depression and all matters sexual which would have had the
Freudians rolling their eyes in dismay. But he was a gentle introduction into a
vast new world I never knew existed.
A Jungian
psychotherapy training followed, of which the less said the better, since the
analyst was less than useful. Though my peers were an encouraging support group
as we struggled to cope with training cases whose problems weren’t covered in
the literature.
Along the way I
tripped serendipitously into Esalen on the Big Sur coast of California, a
former hippie haunt which had fostered many of the alternative greats – Gestalt
Fritz Perles, Aldous Huxley, deep-tissue massage Ida Rolfe, Stanislav
Grof. A fabulous setting above the
Pacific on old Native American grounds with hot sulphur spring baths, it was
(and probably still is) known as heaven and hell. Intense five day
emotional-process workshops opened up gut-wrenching stories. What made the
experience (personal and other) bearable were the best masseurs on the planet
and hours in a hot tub watching the otters play amongst the kelp in the sea
below or staring up at the Milky Way at midnight. Mind and body are seen as
inextricably linked there and both need care.
Esalen saved my
sanity as I extricated myself from a damaging therapist and failing marriage.
But clearly not all problems had been ironed out so a five-day-a-week
independent Freudian analysis followed. Two years, I reckoned at the outset.
Seven years later I left.
In parallel to
gruelling years on the couch, I fell into a media child abuse campaign, partly
by accident, which turned into a science argument about the effects of trauma –
sexual abuse, war, Holocaust. My knowledge base expanded at speed as it turned
out most of the psychological theories taught in trainings were tosh when it
came to coping with the ‘black hole’ of trauma.
My journey has been
an individual one, spurred on by dissatisfaction with my life but also by
curiosity. Nina Coltart (Slouching Towards Bethlehem), a wise old bird of an
analyst, once said to me in a consultation that studying the mind in depth is a
privilege. Difficult to remember when you’re sinking into the pit of misery
which lies way below everyone’s happy face. But the intellect alone won’t find
the answers.
The old rule of
thumb in the therapy world was that patients/clients had to be at the last gasp
of desperation before treatment would work. Only when inner turmoil had gone
beyond the point of tolerance would there be sufficient motivation to plunge
into a confrontation with the unconscious. Concerned friends and family pushing
aren’t enough.
I’m still conflicted
about that advice since I know how extraordinarily helpful the process has been
for me in later life; and wish others stuck in a life of recycling dilemmas had
been persuaded into their own inner exploration. Depth analysis isn’t
everyone’s path but there’s now a wide range of choices from the cognitive
(change thinking habits), short-term CAT, to ongoing relationship-oriented
counselling and therapy.
Carl Jung, to
whose ideas I’ve returned after a jaundiced separation from my training,
thought the mid life crisis in the late 30s and early forties was a crucial
turning point. Make that transition successfully by going on an inner journey
and the second half of life has meaning. Ignoring it and continuing along a
life of outer striving – success, possessions, social status - leads to stagnation and a sense of inner
emptiness.
Seeking
psychological help isn’t only about admitting to being mad. Truthfully at one
level everyone is mad; some are just better admitting it than others. Major
glitches need to be fixed as far as is possible and an acceptance reached about
what can’t. But there are add-on benefits on the road less travelled from
finding a new way of looking at oneself and fellow human beings.
Teaching
relationship psychology in schools to shine a light on underlying motivations
as well as family dynamics would be a giant step forward. We are abysmally
unaware of how the human heart and psyche operate. Starting young might help to
get over later hurdles.
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BUY my new crime thriller BY the LIGHT of a LIE at:
www.marjorieorr.com
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