The Ape & The Cross

Tomorrow, 10 October, is World Mental Health Day. This day aims to create public awareness by making issues related to mental health a global priority. I recently learned that about half of mental disorders begin before age 14. For this reason, I am so thankful to Daniel for sharing his take on this critical issue.

 My name is Daniel Burgers. I am an aspiring writer suffering from an infuriating obsession, a quenchless thirst for knowledge, and thinking I am smarter than I am.

I do not have a doctorate, a degree, or even a grade in any of the subjects I write or speak about, making my opinions naturally flawed and unprofessional. What I do have is my own experience with mental health and receiving bad advice on what to do with said mental health. If you need help regarding your own mental health, contact a professional, and do not take my words as gospel.

 THE APE AND THE CROSS

 On a mountain of denial, within a cave of darkness, sits a two-headed ape who stares at shadows.

The one head, vengeful and enraged, sees the shadows of those who harm and mock.

The other, remorseful and pained, sees the shadows of loss and regret.

Both are hateful. Both are cruel. Both are screaming. Both are unbound.

 You know the two-headed ape well. You met when all other voices turned silent. When suffering bled, rage lit up, and pain flowed through your soul like water. At first, it was a small voice among many, but as your pain grew, so did the ape. He called out your failures, mocked your shortcomings, and tempted you with surrender. He knew every part of your broken mind and called out problems you did not even know existed.

 Death is always better. That is the motto of the ape, and if he can’t have the death of others, he will demand your own death. He will convince you that life is not worth the pain. That no amount of horrific afterlife can stand before the suffering of pure existence. He will beg for his own extinction, and in doing so, will deafen you to all the other voices that remain within. Soon, there will only be two choices left.

 Either you bow to his dreaded demands, or you throw him into Tartarus, where he will be bound to stare at nothing but shadows. Most chose the latter. Those who didn’t, now stand as one of many names on a tragic list that grows with every passing day.

 When I first met the ape, I was an ostracized teenager in a school built on hate. In my eyes, he was a wyrm waiting to devour; a force of evil so great that not even the name of God could intimidate him. When I prayed, the Holy Spirit would calm me. He would stand at my side and wash away my tears as I kept binding the ape to his prison.

 The problem with Tartarus is within the very philosophy of its design. It is a prison built for the beasts and titans. An abyss to house the primordial evils of the world. The flaw is that it was made to be escaped from. Nothing stays in Tartarus.

 When rage boiled within my blood, dried up the last of my tears, and melted away my reasoning, he would break from his chains, vengeful and full of hatred. Even after leaving that school behind, the ape was still there, reminding me of how badly I failed. How I could barely make any friends or show any result for the effort I put into my studies. He reminded me that life can never be easy, and whatever lies beyond the veil of death cannot be as bad as my present.

 What do you call such evil? Can darkness truly wreck this much damage to a child of God? Is there any hope against such hatred and scorn?

 Carl Gustav Jung wrote, “The Shadow, that hidden, repressed, for the most part, inferior and guilt-laden personality whose ultimate ramifications reach back into the realm of our animal ancestors.”

 I am not sure if the ape and the shadow are the same. If I am honest, I don’t feel I know enough about Jung’s philosophy to claim the two-headed ape part or separate from the shadow. All I know is that reading up on his theory revealed a far greater meaning behind the ape. A sort of hope to the inevitable darkness I kept finding myself in.

 The ape is not the devil. He is not a demon that whispers in your ear or some primordial sin that corrupts your heart. He is not against God, nor is he evil in the sense we think he is. In fact, despite what he claims, the ape might be the last shred of self-love you have left.

 He worries over your safety and dreads the pain you share. He wants life to make sense, even when chaos is within his very nature. He does not want to be alone. He does not want to be hurt. He is not a monster. He is not even an ape. He is a child, abused by the world, who never grew up.

 Like a child, he is petty, sensitive to the core, and over-reactionary in all he does. He begs for his pain to end through death, but like a child, he does not understand what death truly means. To the two-headed ape, there is no finality. He believes that death is nothing but a reset, a new sunrise to a terrible day, and how can you blame him? After all, he never got to grow up.

 You can keep chaining the ape in Tartarus, but know this, the ape cannot and will not stand separation. He will scream, roar, and knock on that cave till you let him free. If you keep him bound, the real question is, how long until he finally breaks free with rage and anger? Remember, the two-headed ape might secretly wish to help you, but above all else he is petty and vengeful.

 Once, the mercilessness of humanity attacked him, then he was betrayed by you when you tossed him into Tartarus without a trial or hesitation. He knows only betrayal and hatred. What other reaction did you expect?

 My second meeting with the ape was about three months ago from me writing this. I was a young adult of twenty-three, drowning in a sea of work that I could not master no matter the effort I showed. It reminded me of my teenage years all over again, of days ruled by futile efforts and agonizing class attendance. He mocked my damaged psyche, blocked my senses, and made me understand that death was my only way out. To say depression played a role in the ape’s return would be an understatement.

 I tried to fight. I tried to pray, beg, and bargain with this grotesque wyrm, but nothing could save me from the primordial beast within. I caused him much pain, and in return, he retaliated with a malicious vengeance.

 How do you defeat such a beast? The answer is obvious but also the most difficult thing you will be asked to do. You forgive him. Despite his mad ravings and childish complaints, the ape is a living being. He wants to feel safe. So assure him that he is safe. He wants to be angry, then allow him to be angry. He wants to know that the pain will end, then remind him that everything has an end.

 Despite the pain, the anger, and the self-hatred, you are a child of God. A beloved of his children and bought by the blood of Christ. You have two great commandments to fulfil, each as important as the last. The one, love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second love your neighbour as yourself.

 I won’t lie, even if you make peace with the child today, I can’t promise a better tomorrow. Mental health is often overlooked or simplified by those who mean well, and I refuse to be a part of such well-meaning evil. Even as I write this, I can feel the child losing his patience, forgetting his worth, and seeing only darkness. He is trying to help, but his primal instincts will not allow him to see the logic in the situation. It is a never-ending battle, but at least now there is hope. There is love, where once was hatred. Forgiveness instead of vengeance. Some hope in this otherwise dark reality we find ourselves in.

 For how can we show love to others if we can’t even show love to ourselves? Perhaps it is time we stop fighting the ape and we embrace the child we abandoned so many years ago.