The Sappening: The Big Elephant in the Room that Smells of Broccoli and Won’t Leave.
It’s a story many will be familiar with. You grow up in a small village, town, community, whatever the case may be. You develop a passion for THE THEATER!!! or maybe MUSIC!!! or perhaps THE CORPORATE SECTOR!!!…and decide that that’s what you’re gonna do with your life (in this scenario, let’s assume you chose a career in acting). This seems like a pretty achievable goal, there are only about 10 other kids your age at school who seem to be in any way interested in the performing arts and you not entirely sure one of them isn’t just a sheep in a trench coat, seriously why are they always wearing that coat and sunglasses? Every so often you’ll try and catch them out by sending them #relatable memes only a sheep would be into like “Me when the guy shearing me is a fitty.” Or “New Year: New Ewe!” in the hope that this will elicit some response from your suspiciously woolly friend but they remain po-faced. Hardly surprising given sheep have no concept of what a meme is, what “shearing ‘’ means until it’s literally happening to them and pay no attention to the Gregorian Calendar. Ah, the quintessentially British childhood.
Anyway, I digress. The “whirlygig of time” “whirlygigs” on and you’re now a headstrong, I dare say virile, young adult all set to make it big in the city. Your passion for THE THEATER has remained strong and you’ve been accepted into a drama school to study acting. Not only that but you’ll be joined by your sheepy friend! Happy days! Until they transfer to another college to study animal husbandry, suspicious…
As your training begins in earnest, you are occasionally aware of a faint whiff of something off that emanates from seemingly nowhere. But hey, that’s drama school for you, sweaty unitards galore, we’ve all been there, right? As time goes on, the proverbial nose is smushed up close and personal to the proverbial grindstone and before you know it, your Alma Mater has birthed you into the real world. It’s only a matter of time before you’re handed the role of your dreams and start acting full time, everything’s coming up Cha… I mean, you.
A few weeks go by, then a few months and nothing happens. The phone is like a goldfish’s laughter — you can’t hear it and anyone who says they can, is either lying to you, or they’re 1998’s Eddie Murphy (#givethepeopledrdoolittle4 #murphyismydoolittle).
It’s at this point in your professional development when your days are spent waiting for the phone to ring, reminiscing about the look on Eddie’s face when he realises the hamster can talk, that The Sappening, at long last, makes its presence known.
The Sappening (Sap-en-ing) has many forms and depending on who you are, can present itself in a variety of different ways. For me, it takes the form of a big, hairy elephant that smells of broccoli. It revels in feelings of inadequacy and sadness and is, at first, barely noticeable but becomes harder to ignore over time.
I’ve given it a slightly comic book style name for two reasons:
- I’m not entirely sure what it is. In my case and at the time of writing, it’s not depression, not quite. There are moments when it gets close, perhaps but in general it’s more of a mix of feelings including but not limited to… hopelessness, shame, sadness, anxiety and a bit of anger thrown in because everything is better with a little chilli sauce, I guess.
- Calling it The Sappening, for me, makes it far, far less intimidating. The Sappening is a cartoon villain or crisis which rest assured can AND WILL be defeated eventually. However, along the way there may be some awfully scary times where it’s going to look like Captain Charles, purveyor of positivity and master of his happiness is going to feel kinda crappy.
Like every good comic book villain, The Sappening is universal. I talk about it from an actor’s perspective because that’s my experience of it. However, I’m willing to bet that if you’re a self-employed creative, or to be fair, a human being from any walk of life, you will have felt its grubby little trunk trying to borrow its way into your mental well being at some point.
The Sappening comes in many shapes and sizes for different people but always smells of broccoli, this much we know but how do we defeat it? I have no definitive answer to that, like I say everyone’s version of The Sappening is different. In my heart of hearts, I’m not entirely sure if it can ever be fully vanquished, however, I’d love to be proven wrong. In the meantime, I’ve made a note of a few things which, in my experience, have at the very least diminished its potency.
- Talking about it and acknowledging its presence.
By re-imagining this weird fart of a rain cloud over my head into a broccoli infused elephant I feel like I’m gaining some control over it. For one thing, I’ve given it a weakness — Mice for example, or a can of AirWick maybe.
Furthermore, lending a corporeal form to Nelly, the biggest asshole in the circus, makes it a lot less scary. It’s a bit like the movie Paranormal Activity. That film terrified me until I tried imagining what the unseen ghost looked like. Once you imagine you can see the ghost running around opening random cupboards, you no longer have a demonic hell spawn and what you’re left with is just some dick head who likes rummaging through your cutlery — bit pathetic really. The same is true of The Sappening.
2. Making time for yourself:
I know from first-hand experience that The Sappening is deathly afraid of any paint by numbers product. The little paint brushes are too small for its big old trunk to manipulate, aw bless the silly old butter trunk! For that matter it’s afraid of any extracurricular activity be it exercise, baking, yo-yo, masturbation, wait, what did he just say? Or bubble baths. I urge you to use your newfound knowledge of its weaknesses to your advantage! YO-YO MY PRETTIES! YO-YO LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT!
3. Friendship and loved ones, sometimes both at the same time.
In my case, my sister and also my flatmate in particular have both been pretty solid. No jokes here, just, thank you, guys. Although I do have to say, Becky, it’s a little odd that your natural musk isn’t dissimilar to the broccoli infused Mamut. I assume this is just a coincidence.
4. Seeking professional help.
This last one is daunting. For me, it feels like contacting an authority would be to admit that this was a problem I couldn’t deal with on my own… is that what I believe or is that?… oh I see, it’s The Sappening telling me that! Caught you, you crafty lil Tusken Raider, you! Look at him smiling to himself in the corner of the room there! Oh we are so very pleased with ourselves, aren’t we? *lobs a sourdough at it’s head.*
As I was saying, after the past year I’m hopeful that the idea of seeking professional help will have become more of an acceptable option in the public consciousness. Surely if we can admit that we all, on occasion, fuck up brushing our teeth and need the odd filling now and then, we can admit to one another that there are times in all of our lives when we all struggle and need to talk to someone.
It took me far too long to realise that mental health support is something that is covered by the NHS. Until very recently, I assumed that mental health was a luxury reserved for those who had chosen more financially stable professions. Not so! You can access NHS talking therapies either by getting a referral from your GP or you can refer yourself to an NHS psychological therapies service from the NHS website which I shall link to below:
So! Mes Enfants! There we have it! The Sappening in all its vegetative glory. I hope you enjoyed reading this, extremely non-expert account of what I have found useful in truncating the trumpeting trunk head’s reign of terror.
In the spirit of being as honest as I can, whilst writing jokes about elephants, sheep and implying that my sister is several bottles of Radox short of a bubble bath, I have to say that the final step — seeking professional help — is a step I have yet to take. Why? Eeehh scary, that’s why! The prospect of sitting down with a professional and having a conversation about all this isn’t one that I particularly relish, I mean, what if they don’t like my elephant material? Or worse, what if it helps? I can’t explain why that’s scary but it’s a feeling similar to jumping into the ocean. Maybe, perversely, I’ve grown comfortable, if not happy, being this way.
Yeeesh, now that’s a thought! With all that being said, seeking professional help is something that I, in my heart of hearts, want to do. If anyone is reading and feels a similar way, I’m ready to give it a go if you are? Let’s jump into the ocean together, pray that those jellyfish looking things are just more plastic bags. Hold your nose, grab my hand, 3, 2, 1… “Weeeeee!”
