TW: Self harm.
Something that’s been on my mind for a while, is how struggle is poised as romantic. The idea of being troubled is glorified through all kinds of media – music, film, books etc. To impressionable, underdeveloped minds, seeing this is damaging as it forges a distortion of reality – aesthetically encouraging the romanticisation of mental health issues.
The minds I speak of are children and teenagers, those who aren’t developed enough to decipher their reality to the immersion of such a distortion.
Certain types of media, encompassing those mentioned above, get caught up on the art of suffering, characters are fawned over and idolised because their suffering may be somewhat relatable. Audiences become captivated by the drama of it all.
If you doubt what I’m on about, I beg you to sit through a couple Billie Eilish songs, read The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, watch the entirety of Euphoria or Brokeback Mountain (take your pick) and sit through half an hour’s worth of Effie (Skins) edits – then get back to me with how you’re feeling.
Such an oversaturation of the art of suffering has made the human struggle somewhat an accessory. We are shown the beauty of crying, heartbreak and pain – even in biblical artwork – just look at Jesus on the cross.
I fell victim to this when I was a teenager. There were students that would self-harm and wear short sleeves the next day. I once sat next to a boy who dug into his skin with a maths compass and then in the class immediately after, a girl began cutting and scraping herself with a protractor. And this was nothing new, some of these people were my friends.
At the time I couldn’t fully understand why anyone hurt themselves and chose to do it. When I asked, they told me the pain felt like a relief.
So, genuinely, to see what the fuss was about I went home and tried cutting my arm so I could understand – I kid you not, as soon as the knife was against my skin I went “FUCK this,” because I saw what this was. This was their cry for attention with zero intention to get actual help.
As a 14-year-old, this was something I didn’t even want to understand without denying myself some sanity. There is beauty behind human emotion, but it gets to a point.
What happens when it stops being beautiful? What happens when it becomes real and raw and ugly and you’re there on your bedroom floor with such an influenced trampled view of self? The truth of it all is that it’s not romantic, it’s not attractive, and it doesn’t make you special.
There are real people out there who are living with mental illness who find relentless objectification far from the truth. I believe anyone that still falls victim to the allure of personal struggle needs a huge wakeup call; you’re actually missing out on so much.
The actual reality is that consistent happiness is possible, and you deserve it, but it’s slow process of unlearning and relearning as you go. I dare you to challenge any fear of disappointment that comes with trying, with the idea of being disappointed by something worthwhile – your progress, your growth; it’s you that is worthwhile.