With the most recent episode The Truths We Bury, and the new addition of a 7 ft. tall giraffe unicycle named Patches into my set of supplies, it is natural for me to reflect on the purpose of perspective, and even the inherent dangers of failing to seek out new ones.
The Truths We Bury focuses on themes of maternal grief and isolation, but the symbol of the 'phantom pregnancy' in this episode draws something out that is applicable for all of us. Like Sarah, we are prone to harbouring something inside us that doesn't belong. A bitterness. A foul secret. A loathing for ourselves, or others.
The imagery could not be more poignant. A graveyard developing inside us. Causing pain. Blackening. Rotting us from the inside out. And, at last when we muster the courage to cleanse ourselves of that terrible burden, we find, although it is never too late, that indeed we have let it linger too long. The process of removing such a burden may leave a scar as profound as the experience of keeping it inside for all that time.
It may even feel more painful to face the problem than to ignore it.
For us, we are lucky that it will not be literal, as was the case with Sarah, but the psychological equivalent sometimes feels just as horrific.
Like many people in the modern age, I have had an intimate struggle with depression, partially caused by deeply buried self-loathing. I have looked out at the calm abyss of death and thought with a clear mind free of self-pity, "Maybe that would be better."
Evidently, I rose to the challenge to prove myself wrong. The pitchforks waiting for me in Hell have a couple of decades to get hot enough, at least.
In many ways, the only reason I am here today is because the pain of such an existence, of harbouring a foul, parasitic entity inside me, became overwhelming. I simply had to fix it, and if not death, then it would be the long, hard road out of Hell.
For Sarah, the surgical process to remove hers took days, but for people like me, the initial practice of replacing self-loathing with acceptance, discipline, love and faith in oneself is one that takes years. And even after we have trained a toxic, inner voice into a healthier companion, the remainder of our lives will be spent coexisting with a shadow of ourselves that needs a very, very careful eye.
Leaving behind the metaphor to the story, I believe this 'shadow' in each of us is not wholly detrimental. It's the part of us that wants to see us do better. That thinks we are capable of doing more. It is the first to know when we have let ourselves down. And, as soon as we have reached a major milestone, it's the first one that asks, "Sure, that was good. But what else can you do?"
And though this entity may our loudest critic, it is a critic, and any artist, writer, or craftsperson worth their salt knows that constructive criticism is vital to improvement. Take the Dunning-Kruger effect, for example. You won't catch many depressed people with this.
The wonderful hope that blossoms from this story is that we have so much farther to go once we have discovered something foul inside us. It's not just something to be extricated, rather looked at with a sobering acceptance, and after deciding that we will brave years of discipline, we embark on the fantastic alchemy that is making our ailment not only a stage for change, but strength.
