HerrQs Kessel

The Saddest Man In All Of The Bars.

nedhepburn:

So my friends leave the bar, because it’s 2:30am and they’re attractive and are probably going to bump (beautiful) uglies with eachother, and I walk back in, because I’m the sexual equivalent of a lifesize Garfield and more single than the number 2 at a binary convention. 

And this sad, sad, sad, sad person walks up to me at the bar. I guess because I’m the only other person alone at the bar who isn’t with anybody. 

He talks to me about things I’m not even going to begin to explain here, because he’s obviously a very lonely guy. And maybe there’s an inkling of “oh, sadness” that he related to in feeling he could unload his story to me at the bar. But the guy tells me everything. About his job. About his lovelife. And how it all fell apart and to how he’s here at this bar tonight at close to 3am on a Thursday morning.

Like, I’ve been through some shit. I’ve been to dark, shitty places in my head. I’m not “proud” about it but I’ll talk about it if needs be. This guy, though, this fucking guy - he goes hog wild. He BOUGHT PROPERTY in those shitty mental places. He opened a GIFT SHOP there. And he keeps talking. And he tells me his life story. 

And I excuse myself and go to the bathroom and call a friend to say “Friend, where are you, you left five minutes ago, please come back, this person is clearly suicidal”. 

And as I leave the voicemail, I think, this guy, what if this is his last night? What if this is his last story to some guy in the bar? What if tonight is the night he goes home and puts a fucking gun in his mouth? It was a fucking terrible thing to have to think. 

And I figure – it is not my place.

Life hands you lemons sometimes. You - as a person in this world - have every right to say “Fuck you, I ordered oranges” and deal with it. 

I’m not comfortable entirely with my decision to leave the bar (well, bathroom, after he told me, but from the bathroom to outside) immediately after this person UNLOADS EVERYTHING UNTO ME and then leave this person who is so clearly in need of… well… something… but that is not something I can provide. I remember telling my friends that I was “bummed out” before they left, to you know, have sex or whatever attractive people do. And I sat there and told them “blugh, my life sucks because of wah wah wah” because my Dad died all of a sudden and we were best friends and he was awesome and all the spiraling fractal myriads of depression that comes with something like that. 

But fuck, dude, ultimately my problems are about “not getting laid (enough)” or “I want more money (to spend on shit)”. I realize this. My problems are ultimately solvable. This guy wanted to kill himself. And I saw that, and I stalled on him. Because I can’t be there for him. I’m just a fucking guy. 

There comes a point – I guess is what I’m trying to say – when you have to say “it’s not my problem”. And I’m a good listener. I’m a great listener. But this was too much. 

It’s so strange to within twenty minutes wonder what your line is (in valuing depression) and then not just have it met but have it exceeded. 

Sometimes, it’s not your place to help someone. People are broke. You know what helps people? Really? In the long run? Themselves. And there ain’t nothing you can do. You can be there for them, but you can’t fix anybody in this world. 

It is not your business to solve other people. 

Instant fucking karma. 

At the age of 17, I began a 5 year career as a peer drug counsellor. I worked in schools, youth clubs, young-offender institutions (borstals), PTA meetings, police stations, shit, I was even flown to Denmark as the (then) UK’s authority on hallucinogenic drugs to contribute to an EU white paper on “Peer Education As A Primary Method In Drug Counselling”.

I part-timed as an acupuncturist and aromatherapy masseur at a day clinic in London’s East Ham, that provided counselling and holistic therapy to recovering heroin and crack users. The majority of our clients were either Hep C or HIV positive, and needed treatment outside of the predominating 12 steps or ‘Just Say No’ methods that were pervasive at the time.

17 to 22… Those are some of your most formative years in terms of emotional development. I spent them listening to some of the most tragic, fucked up, and heartbreaking shit you could imagine. And I had to listen to it all with a neutral demeanour, suppressing my instinct to either hug or hit the person in front of me.

Listening to a man talk about beating his partner, because she wouldn’t turn tricks so that he could buy more crack.

Listening to a man gush about how happy he was to find a vein that he hadn’t collapsed (deep within an abcess) that he could shoot Smack into it.

Listening to a blank audio cassette, recorded by a man so psychotic, so paranoid from his cocaine use, that he was convinced it held the proof of his wife’s sexual affair with a ghost.

Listening to a young woman that had breast implants to boost her self-esteem, explain that she was still just as unhappy as before, and was considering taking a pen-knife to her chest to remove them herself…

Listening to all of that, at that age… It wires you to help, to be there… Not to fix, but to try to enable people, to empower them to the point that they initiate whatever necessary steps are needed for their progress or recovery.

I don’t think I’d have taken the same route as Ned, were I in that situation; but I’m also finally starting to realise that the only person I’m responsible for in this universe is me.

I’ll focus on doing as much good, as often as I can, but I’m still learning to do that at less of a personal cost.