Tag Archives: Depression

Hamlet, Depression, and Boundaries

I quote from Hamlet more than any of Shakespeare because I identify so much with him.  For example, my momma too could have said when I was young and moping about the castle, “Look yonder.  The poor wretch comes reading.”  And, I too am full of thoughts and ideas the sum of which “if quartered, would be one part wisdom and three parts cowardice.”  I am also very violent, as was Hamlet, but like he…in reference to his mother…”will speak daggers to her, not use them.”

Hamlet had serious boundary problems.  If I’d have been  his therapist, I would have diagnosed him with “depressive disorder” but only because I tended to be cautious when possible and avoided the “major” label to diagnoses.  But he simply suffered from “porosity of boundaries” as one psychiatrist I worked with once said of a patient, meaning that his boundaries were “holey” and “stuff” got through which did not get through for most people.  And it is no accident that there is an incest them in the play and boundaries are always skewed for every member of an invested family even if they were not the “victim.”

As Hamlet moped about that castle at Elsinore, people began to talk about the young prince and expressed worry.  Hamlet caught ear of these whisperings and at one point said, “My heart has in it that which passeth show. These are but the suits of woe.”  He was saying, “Oh, sure I’m depressed.  But heck, you don’t know true half of it!.”  He was saying that they only saw the outward “suits” or appearances of his emotional torment but inside he the unmitigated, nameless anguish, “that which passeth show.”  For, when boundaries are impaired, feelings that all of us experience are experienced more intently and his step-father noted at one point, “Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.”

The most striking theme that I see in Shakespeare is his emphasis on the depths of the heart, the sub-text of life, which most people meticulously avoid. Most people see only the “show” and dutifully live out the “show” or play their role on the stage of life while the heart is never delved into.  But, unfortunately this “Ozzie and Harriet” existence deprives them of the meaning in life, a meaning which is found only by “Diving into the Wreck” of the heart’s ambivalences.  (“Diving into the Wreck” is the title of a book of poetry by Adrienne Rich.)  And let us not forget the admonishment of Jesus who asked, “What shall it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul?”

The Pain of “Seeing Things Too Well”

And one trembles to be so understood and, at last, To understand, as if to know became The fatality of seeing things too well. –Wallace Stevens

Matthew Warren, the son of widely-renown evangelical pastor Rick Warren, has taken his life. Only in his mid-twenties, the report from his father was that his son had struggled with depression and “mental illness” for most of his life, often pining for death to ease his pain. I was deeply troubled by this story, so sorry for the young man who was so overcome with the difficulty of life and for his family whose life has now been shaken to the core.

“You who watched Matthew grow up knew he was an incredibly kind, gentle, and compassionate man,” Warren wrote. “He had a brilliant intellect and a gift for sensing who was most in pain or most uncomfortable in a room. He’d then make a bee-line to that person to engage and encourage them.”

This anecdote from Pastor Warren reveals that Matthew was a very sensitive soul, who could be described as “having boundary problems” and taking on the troubles and pain of other people. In my trade, I once heard a psychiatrist describe a similar soul as suffering from “porosity of boundaries.”

I don’t know anything about the Matthew and never will. But I certainly identify with him as I know what it is like to overly-identify with other people and, on occasion to cross a line and take on more of their pain than I should. That is why I was a “mental health professional” and often could have uttered the famous words of Bill Clinton, “I feel your pain.” But, mercifully my “porosity” never reached the extreme of this young man and I’ve never had to battle with suicidality.

Life is really painful. Most people are “blessed” with blinders but some are not so fortunate. If they are lucky, they will be able to channel this anguish into a productive outlet…art, music, “care-giving” professions, ministry, etc….; otherwise, they suffer terribly and sometimes opt for the “bare bodkin” that Hamlet pined for. Most cultures do not make room for young men and women of this cut, those who “see things too well.” This greatly exacerbates their pain, forcing them to suffer in isolation. I’m reminded again of the wisdom of Leonardo da Vinci:

O cities of the sea, I behold in you your citizens, women as well as men tightly bound with stout bonds around their arms and legs by folk who will not understand your language; and you will only be able to give vent to your griefs and sense of loss of liberty by making tearful complaints, and sighs, and lamentations one to another; for those who bind you will not understand your language nor will you understand them. Leonardo da Vinci, from “Of Children in Swaddling Clothes”. Just as Jaspers would note, da Vinci knew that we “have to take it where we find it.”

“Lighten up” You Pain Mongerers!

And one trembles to be so understood and, at last, To understand, as if to know became The fatality of seeing things too well. -Wallace Stevens

Wallace Stevens was a fine poet and I do think he experienced the “pain” of seeing things to well and that probably it felt like a “fatality.” For, the gods have forbidden us to look at things to clearly, too well, as it does not look pretty. For example, each of us could die at any moment but neurologically we are wired to not obsess with that thought. If we did, we would have trouble functioning. So we live our hum-drum lives “assuming” that we are going to live forever, knowing in the back of our hearts that we won’t, but not worrying about the fact that the very next moment the grim-reaper could be knocking on our door.

But some do live portions of their life in very dangerous situations and have the knowledge that their life is on the line. Soldiers are one example but they are disciplined and trained to now allow that fear to predominate. Others are racked with serious illness that could take them at anytime. But many others are merely predisposed to see through to the grim of life, its intrinsic ugliness and ultimate “fatality”, and at times get overwhelmed and even on occasion decide to throw in the towel and borrow Shakespeare’s “bare bodkin”

But, to those people, I challenge them that they are taking themselves too seriously. Yes, they see that “fatality” dimension of life and it tears into their soul. But, they need to “give it a rest” from time to time even as they write about it or preach about it for it is only one perspective. That perspective can become all-consuming as the mind can readily perseverate on anything, certainly something like the ugliness of life, and that “bare bodkin” or Socrates’ “hemlock” might beckon. In those instances, I fear these people are often just taking themselves and their pain too personally. THERE IS ANOTHER WAY OF LOOKING AT IT! Often, “This too shall pass.” I strongly recommend that when life is looking overwhelming, try to utilize a simple cognitive-behavioral strategy and follow the advice from the movie, “The Life of Brian” and sing the little ditty, “Look on the bright side of life.” Make it a practice to look around you and focus…and feel…the beauty that is around you even in the midst of your pain.

Here is a picture I found that makes me think of myself with my wife when I have consumed with ponderous, boring thoughts about the heaviness of life:  I have just quoted  T. S. Eliot:  “Dark, dark, we all go into the dark, the vacant interstellar space…”  Note the look on her face.  She is pondering, “How in the hell did I ever get stuck with this morose loser?”

2be old bored couple pix

“Heavenly hurt it sends us”

Richard Rohr argues that there is “an incurable wound at the heart everything” and that in the second half of one’s life maturity comes when we recognize and accept this. He states in a recent blog that “your holding and ‘suffering’ of this tragic wound, your persistent but failed attempts to heal it, your final surrender to it, will ironically make you into a wise and holy person.”

Now, I would qualify this and note that this “incurable wound” comes to us in varying degrees. For many, those who are merely the “walking wounded” it presents itself as plain vanilla depression and anxiety. But even that “plain vanilla” version of pain must be confronted, just as others must confront their “incurable wound.” It makes me wonder if this is what Paul meant by his “thorn in the flesh.”

And note here what a “difference” Emily Dickinson’s “heavenly hurt” brought her:

There’s a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the heft
Of cathedral tunes.

Heavenly hurt it gives us;
We can find no scar,
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.

None may teach it anything,
‘Tis the seal, despair,-
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the air.

When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, ‘t is like the distance
On the look of death.