By the time one has reached a certain age, the dread of everyday existence has already taken hold of the minds of most individuals.
This self-awareness, surely, is a sign of intelligence? But intelligence has never resulted in higher levels of happiness. In fact, studies have shown that intelligence has been detrimental in the pursuit of happiness, leading to self-reflection that leads to doubt, be it with regards to one’s own capabilities and usefulness, or regarding their very purpose in the world.
I do not mean to insult those who are happy, nor do I mean to take on the role of some supremely self-aware overlord amongst the human race.
But, through different conversations, if there’s anything I’ve found, it is that there is a misunderstanding, and a feeling of being misunderstood. The one who leaves (and this is no surprise), misunderstood, finds no solace; and the ones who stay, not understanding, cannot explain.
What doesn’t kill you
I do not claim to understand the psyche of those who take their own lives.
But, in Bangladesh, more than 10,000 people commit suicide every year. This is more than 1.40% of total deaths for the year. Of all suicides in the world, Bangladesh accounts for 2.06%.
Statistics, of course, vary. Some years are better than others. And Bangladesh, comparatively, does not have a “suicide problem.” But what needs to be addressed is the growing rift between the depressed and the still kicking, between the optimists and pessimists.
Much of the problem exists because of the semantics surrounding the mental disorders which contribute to suicide and, subsequently, the stigma attached to being rather “down in the dumps.”
In a conversation with a friend after the recent suicide of a prominent Bangladeshi musician (and following the more prominent suicides of international musicians), I could not make him quite see the way a suicidal person might think; “might” because a) I have never truly been there myself, and b) I do not mean to condone suicide in any shape or form.
The conversation subsisted in veering towards the same point: Should they have done it?
Honestly, I do not know.
We have everything, for we have been given everything. But, what is underestimated is the psychological void it leaves us with
Kill your darlings
I would like to, at this point in time and place, put up a defense of a generation ravaged by meaninglessness. The rift I spoke of earlier does not exist merely between the about-to-die and the still-hanging-on, but between generations.
A few years ago, a cousin of mine, a teenager at the time, popped a few dozen pills in retaliation against his parents. He survived; his stomach had to be pumped. Teenagers can be spoilt creatures, there’s no denying.
However, after hearing this, my dad’s response to me was: “If you do anything like this, I will hang you by the fan and hit you until you’ve learned your lesson.”
In defense of my dad, this was all talk; he would never do this. But the sentiment was clear: How dare you be dissatisfied with your life when we have given you everything you’ve ever wanted?
Therein lies the problem. This generation (I shall show a hint of possessiveness and call it mine) finds itself, in many ways, in an environment which requires little to no physical struggle.
We have food, shelter, cars, apartments, girls, boys, money, comfort, air conditioners, and everything else in between and beyond. In the words of my father, we have everything, for we have been given everything.
But, what is underestimated is the psychological void it leaves us with. Yes, we have everything, but it also means that there is little else to want. Where our parents and forefathers struggled to survive and put food on the table, we have done anything but. This struggle is internal, a product of excess and indulgence.
Nothing else is, anymore, good enough.
Not work, but worry
Not the most flattering portrayal of the generation. And a very privileged portrayal at that. When the physical discomfort and pain is compared to the hoity-toity existential dread of millennials, it is unsurprising that it is not taken seriously.
But one thing that the world, not just Bangladesh, still continues to struggle with is accepting the idea of the mind as of equal, if not more, importance than the body.
Be it depression or any other psychological problem, be it one that leads to suicide or not, the bridges which need to be crossed to understand the concept of sadness and misery are too few, and often, too long to cross.
It could be that, perhaps, none of us really knows what the hell we are talking about, sitting up in the ivory towers of mental stability. And maybe that’s fine. And maybe we need someone to talk to, and someone to tell us we matter.
But, all of these things are futile, and temporary solutions, to those who truly have lost meaning and purpose in a life that needs to be lived.
SN Rasul is an Editorial Assistant at the Dhaka Tribune.
