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A long time ago – before three or four years of therapy, a couple anti-depressant combinations, regular diet and exercise, and a fuller spiritual life – one of my favorite songs was “I’m Only Happy When it Rains” by Garbage:

I’m only happy when it rains
I feel good when things are going wrong
I only listen to the sad sad songs

I didn’t like movies with happy endings, because life wasn’t always happy, so I didn’t feel they reflected reality. I didn’t like uplifting songs because they would force me not to pity myself. I relished being something of a Beatnik, a brooding artist, and jaded student.

The truth was, and remains, There is Nothing Deep About Depression. In his landmark New York Times Magazine article, Peter Kramer described our underground fascination with depressive natures. The way “we idealize depression, associating it with perceptiveness, interpersonal sensitivity and other virtues that spawn creativity.” Kramer’s research showed that even in the second century B.C. Aristotle wrote that a moderate amount of “black bile” creates men superior to the rest of the world.

In an age of the functioning depressed, it’s easy to see how those ideas came about and persist. Vincent van Gogh was depressed, Virginia Woolf was, too. (Note: they killed themselves). Kramer comments that “Hamlet” is the seminal text of our culture, one that cements our admiration for doubt, paralysis and alienation; melancholy becomes heroism. He says that in our culture to be depressed is to occupy the role of rebel and social critic and that depression is what tuberculosis was 100 years ago: illness that signifies refinement.

What does this mean for the YBPer, though? Well, Kramer eventually notes that it is Albert Camus who is correct; it is joy that opens our eyes to the absurd – and to our freedom. I remember what it was like to be a functioning depressed person; to have a job, go to school and manage a social schedule. There is no profile for depressed people. There are signs, but they don’t always wear black trench coats and wield weapons. They have families, dreams and hopes, and they are fighting what can often seem a hidden monster. But living in and internalizing great tragedy, stress and pressure is not to be celebrated or accepted. Kramer writes that “depression is not a perspective. It is a disease. Beset by great evil, a person can be wise, observant and disillusioned and yet not depressed. Resilience confers its own measure of insight. We should have no trouble admiring what we do admire – depth, complexity, aesthetic brilliance – and standing foursquare against depression.”

I am not suggesting that everyone is discounting, snickering at, or devaluing the depressive condition. It’s just that many of us come from traditions and cultures that didn’t talk about their problems (like with a mental health professional) or put their “business in the streets.” Struggle and its effects were to stay in the family; the outward appearance must always be one of collectedness and toughness. Thankfully, one of my deans once told me that at the time if my arm had been in a sling, people would accept it no problem. But, if our minds are in a sling, it’s more difficult to appreciate and understand, let alone see. If your enjoyment isn’t what it used to be, if feelings of happiness and gladness escape you and you avoid them, just ask yourself if you are rationalizing something that may stealing some of your joy. If so, that’s ok. There is a way out. Just don’t accept deep sadness, frustration, or depression as a part of life. Before you save your job, save your family or friends, be a hero and save yourself.