poisoned water

a metaphor for suicidal depression and a real life scenario. first the real life scenario

I live in one of the countless depressed towns (pun intended) where, due to the cheapness of land, this place is used as a toxic waste dump by big chemical corporations. The latest “scandal”… though how can you call it a scandal if it’s been common knowledge for 50 years… is that a plastics company has been pumping waste chemicals into the river since the 1970s. The river is the only source of water feeding the entire region.

I remember my dad making offensive jokes about how all the kids in this dumbass town have mental problems, he said this after my best friend’s suicide, and ofc the “all the kids” was a not-too-cleverly-hidden dig at me. We won’t get into that. The point is that he was right. All the kids here have mental health issues and guess whose fucking fault that is? Who fucking picked this shithole town to start a family in pops? The water is poison and everyone knew it. Now it’s just “official” because the corporation lost a huge lawsuit which squarely puts them at fault.

So yay they’re supposed to pay some huge fine to the government…or likely their insurance company will pay the fine, or maybe their lawyers will get it reduced or quietly wiped off the books the way lawyers do. My point being, a bunch of lawyers and officials get rich while the townspeople, the animals and the wildlife are still sucking down this poisoned water and there isn’t much you can do about if if you’re dirt ass poor and unable to move to greener pastures.

Now the metaphor which you probably guessed by now. Depression is like a toxic water supply. It’s there every morning, every day, every sleepless night poisoning you with every sip. So you ask for help. But “help” for depressed people is nothing more than telling you to help yourself. Therapy consists of people telling you to move out, move away from the poisoned water supply, find greener pastures. Well fucking duh. If we had the money to move to the French Riviera and bask in the clean air & crystal waters none of us would be so depressed. But that’s the problem, when you’re stuck in a poisoned town, poisoned not by your own hand but by forces beyond your control, and the poison itself has drained you of the strength and resources to fight, who’s gonna help? I feel like all the therapists and doctors are just chanting the same thing: “move away from the poison” but they don’t get it. That’s like when your doctor tells you that you need to “lower your stress!” Oh golly gee thanks doc, I’ll just push my “lower your stress” button located here behind my left ear and I’m fixed. I’ll pay the bill on my way out.

Increasingly I’m realizing the only way to get out of this poisoned existence is the way my best friend did. A permanent solution to a permanent problem.