GIVING UP — A PROBLEM WITH PLATITUDES

J. Greville
Jul 10, 2017 · 5 min read

“Don’t give up.”

(Insert bullshit here)

There’s a natural instinct to help people when they express feelings of inadequacy, hopelessness, or depression. I say natural, but I don’t mean universal. I believe that most people have this instinct, and some don’t. That’s okay. I think it’s natural either way. When someone says “I feel ugly,” this tendency leads others to say “No, you’re beautiful.” (Well, that and a culture that’s oppressively fat-shaming and exclusionary). It’s this tendency that makes us correct those who point out their own faults or shortcomings or status or bad-luck, regardless of truth.

It’s a natural human instinct to pepper self-hate with peppy plastic bullshit.

This instinct always comes from a place of caring, but what it leads to never sounds genuine. If words are bullets, then these are blanks. Voice without power or purpose, but still feels nice. Like the whiff of a good meal you’ll never taste. No, you’re beautiful. What are you talking about, hun, they love you. Of course he thinks you’re pretty. Of course. Nobody is staring at you. And the deeper and darker and worse you go, the more empty the words get. Don’t worry, it will get better. Things are always darkest before the dawn. You’ll be okay, I just know it. Blah blah blah. On and on.

Don’t give up.

Don’t give up.

And it’s just another platitude. Platitudes are all we have. When one fails, we move on to the next, and the next, and the next, never ending. Never working. Never stopping. “It’s no use, Mr. James — it’s turtles all the way down.”

“When we say UGLY, you say BEAUTIFUL!”
“UGLY!” “BEAUTIFUL!”
“UGLY!” “BEAUTIFUL!”
(Repeat until dead)

And I hate it. I wish we had something more, but the available and acceptable language for expression in this area is flat-land shallow and whisper-thin. We’re not allowed to agree with someone’s self-hate, for fear of supporting it. We’re not allowed to hate ourselves unless we encourage others to hate us, and yet when our humanity is stripped away each day we’re told it’s okay, that it’ll get better, that we have to hold on. Have hope, good sir. Don’t fret, dear madam. Fuck yourself, fellow human.

Fuck it. Fuck holding on. I’m done with holding on.

I have depression. That’s the beginning and end of a miserable story we’ve all heard before; the first and last sentence. I have depression, you have depression, blah blah blah. Nobody cares, because everyone’s already bought the ticket and seen the show. A couple years ago, I stopped seeing a human being in the mirror. This was a reaction to what I experienced in the street. I was inhuman to everyone else, and I brought that shit home. What can I say? I do what I’m told. It wasn’t long after that I lost hope and gave up.

And now for the fuck-you disclaimer: I’m still alive, still working. Still making feints and sleights at the faintest, slightest hint of something more, but it’s not enough. I haven’t got it in me for more. I haven’t killed myself yet, despite a couple attempts, but I see little reason to keep going.

But still, be still my still-beating heart, because you’re blowing my fucking spot — how can I give up if I’m still alive?

Well, the Pinto’s running but the wheels aren’t moving. This life isn’t much of a road-trip. The radio’s busted, the driver’s dead, and the tank is dangerously close to empty.

Don’t give up.

Now insert bullshit here. Say something about the car being on an incline, or that maybe it’s a fixer upper. Say don’t give up, or give in. Say the driver’s just asleep — make something up. ‘Where there’s chrome, there’s hope!” Go nuts, have fun. But all of that — every line of it — is no use. Poking holes in a metaphor doesn’t change the facts. Telling someone that it will be better, or telling them to feel better, doesn’t change anything.

I’ve given up. And telling me not to give up doesn’t help. That’s the issue.

. . .

But now, to be fair to you:

The crux of this whole shebangebang we got going on is that you’re stupid, and I’m stupid. It’s okay — we’re all idiots here. Nobody is good at this. Like I said before, we lack the damned vocabulary to wrestle with these issues. We can’t move our jaws or form our cheeks with enough muster or talent to get it right even a bit of the time. When we’re completely unable to help, but keep trying, we’re at our most human. I speak from experience, certainly not moral superiority — I’ve made this same mistake countless times. This futile effort and exchange is what is means to be human, in the purest possible sense, but it doesn’t help. It hurts. And if you’re trying to help, you need to stop.

Because you’re hurting people. You’re hurting those you care about. Platitudes are dull to start, but sharpen against our skin with each use until they cut right through us. Humans make wonderful whetstones. We’re nothing if not helpful.

See, this whole rigmarole isn’t about giving up, but about the words we use to address each other’s pain. What we say to the person who has given up. You have to realize that empty words are fucking razor-blades, and the more you spit the more we bleed.

The point here is that I’ve given up, and it hurts. But it hurts even worse when, upon expressing that thought, people only offer helpful platitudes. Empty words. So, here’s an appeal. Dudes and dudettes, dig deep and buckle up: next time you’re faced with a friend in this situation, try this instead:

Agree, sympathize, and listen.

You read that right buckaroo. Agree with the little misfit. Treat their shit like it’s the truth. This is the key, so I’ll repeat it again: treat what they say like it’s true. This means respecting them enough to share in this truth with them. If we can both see the sky is blue — and I fucking know you can see it — it doesn’t help to call it fucking maroon. Treat what they say like the truth, and share in that truth.

Then recognize that truth for what it is. Recognize that it sucks. Acknowledge that it sucks. Give them some goddamn sympathy for how bad it sucks. Because if it’s true (as we just discussed), and it’s something negative, then…yeah. You’re going to have to accept that. This is the hard part.

Finally, if you’ve done that, just listen. Take your cue from the miserable fucking bastard you’re trying to comfort. Repeats steps one and two until they get you somewhere new.

None of this requires any platitudes. None of this really requires any big thought or soul-searching. You don’t need to be profound, or recite quotes, or repeat a saying you saw on facebook. Just be there for the person in need, and follow the steps.

So what does this mean for me?

Well, I’ve given up. And instead of telling me not to, I’d love it if someone said this:

Really man? That sucks. I’m sorry you’re going through that. What made you give up?

Not a damn platitude in sight, and already I’m feeling better. Sometimes that’s all it takes.

And someday, I hope that’s all it will take.

-J

J. Greville

Written by

London, Ontario based writer and illustrator. I did a push-up once and didn’t like it.

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