Jacuzzi-Shitters

Jacuzzi-Shitters

We all know the person; well intentioned, but a sad sack. Everyone is having a good time and this person just can’t relate to it, so they bring up something morose or negative and kill the vibe.
I used to be one. A Jacuzzi-Shitter.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit it. I never did it consciously. I thought I was a person of depth because I could shamelessly change the conversation from the weather to my dad’s attempted suicide.

In hindsight, I didn’t know any better, and that’s the part that’s so hard about depression. You don’t have anything to compare it to, so you assume everyone feels the way you do; filled with dread and a gnawing, lonely, soul-engulfing sadness that makes getting out of bed a chore. Guess what? They don’t. A lot do, but most don’t.

I’m proud that I’m not that guy today, and I feel no guilt in avoiding Jacuzzi-Shitters even though I used to be one. I’d be happy to talk to them about their sadness or depression if they ask for help and it’s at an appropriate time and place, and they’re not looking for me to be their therapist.

Part of my living successfully with depression is avoiding depressing situations that I’m not equipped or responsible for. And none of us are responsible for someone else’s happiness. If by being my natural self I can add to your happiness, great, but I’m not responsible for it, and it does me no good to pretend that its okay for you to unload your misery at an inappropriate place and time; Or to pretend it is okay for you to avoid seeking professional help and continue to drain non-professionals like me, because you’re too cheap or afraid. I’ll cheer friends on, but I won’t try to save them. The more I work on myself the easier it is to set boundaries with people who have no sense of them.

It’s like there used to be some sick divining rod in me that was drawn to the negative, but I could never even see it. I didn’t think I needed therapy. My wife, God bless her, nudged me towards help, but it took years. It took me wanting to kill myself to realize she might have a point.

Being “real” is dealing with your depression by seeking the appropriate help at the appropriate time and place.

There are no excuses for not getting help. But asking for help isn’t easy, especially for men, because society has never portrayed it as strength. Add to it the fact that two of the hallmarks of depression are difficulty opening up and difficulty making decisions. It’s a dangerous combination.

What isn’t difficult is injecting your sadness into an unequipped group whenever you feel like it. But it’s difficult for THEM. And it’s Jacuzzi-Shitting.

I’ve now been opening for years to people equipped to hear me and as a result I feel great. But it started with me getting outside my comfort zone and asking for help – from a professional. I now know that saying, “Help me” and “I don’t know” saved my life. It didn’t make me weaker, it made me stronger.

My hope is this site is a place where people can safely share what’s festering inside them instead of shitting the Jacuzzi.

So eat a big bowl of chili, grab your keyboard and lay some pipe. In the meantime I’ll try to think of some more disgusting metaphors to scare visitors off.

3 Comments
  • Soof

    05/13/2011 at 2:11 pm Reply

    I suspect I might be guilty of this at times. I don’t know that I can add much, but I saw their weren’t any comments yet, so I figured I’d add one.

    I appreciate what you’re doing with this site. I’ve heard you a lot on Jimmy Dore’s podcast and I really enjoy your comedy, but I finally subscribed to your podcast today and listened to your conversation with Graham Elwood. It’s definitely making it into my regular listening rotation.

    Thanks!

  • E

    05/16/2011 at 6:31 pm Reply

    I do this, and hate it. How did you stop? Seems like everyone’s laughing, joking, I hear a thread that sounds interesting or someone drops a comment and I follow up, and suddenly… war. Death. Disease. Famine. Once you’ve started down this path, how do you get out?

    • Paul Gilmartin

      05/16/2011 at 7:33 pm Reply

      E,
      The only way I could get out of it was to get professional help from a therapist and a psychiatrist. Each person is different, but if you’ve never sought help from either of these, I encourage you to try. I would never have been able to deal with it on my own.

      Paul

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