HAPPINESS TIPS FOR THE PROFOUNDLY HAUNTED

HOW TO STOP KICKING THE SHIT OUT OF YOURSELF, RECOGNIZE DEPRESSION AS REAL AND LEGIT, AND CULTIVATE A CAPACITY FOR ACTIVE JOY THAT GETS YOU THROUGH THE FUCKING DAY

Photo by Gary Meulemans on Unsplash

AUTHOR’S NOTE: A couple years back, I was invited to participate in a collection of essays and think pieces for horror writers. Only this time, it wasn’t about dispensing important writing tips like “How To Be Scary!” or “Fifty Ways to Say ‘I Killed You!’”

To my delight, this was intended as a self-help book for creatives who tend to work the dark side of the street. A CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL aimed at the predictable crises that come from plumbing the depths. I thought it was a great idea. And the moment I was asked, I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

It breaks my heart that the book has not, as of yet, come out. But I was delighted to include it in my last published book of short fiction, DON’T PUSH THE BUTTON, as one of the bonus essays in the back. And I’m even more thrilled to reprint it here, where a wider variety of people are likely to see it.

Though parts of this advice are skewed toward horror writers in particular, I suspect there’s a whole lotta stuff in here that might be of use to everyone who struggles with punishing self-judgment, heartbreak, and shame.

I don’t talk about my own crushing depression much. In fact, I talk about it so rarely that most people most likely assume: 1) I don’t have any; and 2) I probably don’t even know what the fuck depression is.

They are, of course, mistaken. But it’s completely understandable. Most of the time, I walk around in an almost ridiculously cheerful state, to the point that I’m practically the poster child for the annual “World’s Happiest Horror Writers” calendar. Which, of course, does not exist.

And lemme tell you: it ain’t just the extremely high quality of the medicinal weed I now legally smoke on a daily basis. Although that’s definitely a contributing factor. (More on that later! )

It’s about the strategies I have concocted, over the years, to keep myself from succumbing to the black abyss that continually beckons me to give up, surrender, just die and be done. An abyss that never goes away. 

So when people ask me, “Why do you write about such horrible things? You seem like such a positive guy!”, I just smile. Because within the question lies the answer.

And then I tell them what I’m about to tell you, as a fellow horror writer, or a reader who seeks to understand.

THE LOGIC OF DEPRESSION IN A WORLD MADE OF PAIN

The great William Goldman has a line near the beginning of his astonishing novel CONTROL that has stuck with me from the moment I first stumbled upon it. It’s not a horror novel proper. But it is crawling with all the essential ingredients: violence, dread, terror, wrongness, pain. 

The line is: “Life is mostly people you love and sadness.” 

I love this line. It crystallizes something that I think is at the heart of the human condition. Which is that deep caring equals deep sorrow. 

Because life is often brutally and cruelly unjust. And every time cruelty or injustice happen, it puts a wound on your soul. Whether it happened directly to you or not.

Which is to say -- seen in this light -- that depression is a natural empathetic response to being an even remotely alert and sensitive human being, in the same way that I’d be hard-pressed to suggest that every living person doesn’t have at least some level of PTSD. I mean, the trauma just keeps coming, right? To the point that you’ve barely negotiated the last one before the next one barrels in. One major signifying life crisis aside, the word “post” seems almost laughably beside the point, if not entirely redundant.

There’s a cumulative weight to all that sorrow, all that damage. It can break your heart, break your back, lay you low. Make it almost impossible to get up from it, whether it hits first thing in the morning or waits till your workaday day is done before fully unleashing its payload of pain. Infecting your dreams every bit as much as it infected every second you walked around carrying it, awake.

So what do you do with it? How do you process it? How do you keep going?

As a horror writer, my answer is: you gotta find someplace to put it. 

So I put it in the work.

Baby, when I write me some fucking horror, I am not kidding around. You wanna know what horror is? How bad shit gets? Well, HERE’S SOME NOW! This is what defined the the splatterpunk era for me. An agenda I pursue to this day.

Horror is the genre uniquely designed to address the damage, and that’s precisely what drew me to it. It was and still is my way of not just venting but exploring and expressing that pain and terror and remorse at being unable to stop it from happening. Except when I can. 

Addressing the damage. Seeking solutions. Creating characters going through that shit, too, and letting us fictively explore ways of dealing. 

There are several strains of horror-related fiction -- those now being called “weird fiction” or “cosmic horror” in particular -- that draw their enormous power from demonstrating how it feels to succumb to powerlessness. Experiencing the full fear of doom, and the absence of hope, and passing that nightmare onto us. 

The braver they are, the more I love them. They nail that flavor and state of mind. They let us know that we are not alone in those crippling feelings. That we share them. THAT’S WHY WE’RE SO FUCKING DEPRESSED.

That said: much of my favorite horror fiction and film is weirdly instructional. It asks the question, “How would YOU deal with this shit, if it happened? Like, in ways that might actually work?”

 And yes, it’s often dialed to specific horror terms. (I can’t even count the internet groups focused on how to survive a zombie apocalypse. You know. JUST IN CASE!)

But past “You got a vampire? POP A STAKE IN ITS HEART!”, the best characters in the best horror stories are trying to negotiate their mental, spiritual, and emotional stakes, not to mention the survival of their bodily parts. They’re being put through the wringer. And we’re hoping that at least SOMEBODY rises to the occasion. Hopefully several. 

We call those people heroes. Flaws and all. 

Because they gave us hope that we might possibly do so, too.

I must confess to being one of those artists, by and large. Questions are great, but I’d love some fucking answers. Am not particularly interested in dropping my audience into the deepest hell, and just leaving them there. It’s just another kind of self-punishing cruelty.

And in the words of hippie philosopher Alan Watts, “Once you get the message, you hang up the phone.” 

Insofar as I can tell, the only antidote to hopelessness is hope. And not just bullshit hope. Something that’s not just symbolic, but demonstrative and actionable. Not just a theory. But a thing you can do, every day, whether the monsters are coming or not.

SO HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED TO ME

My last full nervous breakdown -- of which I’d had several -- was in 1993, right after Skipp & Spector broke up, and my life collapsed entirely. My family. My self-esteem. Everything I thought I was, and defined myself by, caved in. 

I could not possibly have hated myself more. And spent much of the following year-anna-half curled up in a fetal ball, screaming, in a shithole apartment in Los Angeles, where all my dreams had gone to die.

I screamed and screamed. I felt sooooo sorry for my neighbors, who I was mostly so nice as pie with that they forgave my ululating wails of torment as best they could. They knew how far my stupid formerly New York Times bestselling ass had fallen. Were pretty sure that I meant well. And living in Hollywood, all had pains of their own. They knew from damage and broken dreams.

My biggest shame was feeling how completely I’d failed everybody I loved, by failing myself. Every time I made anyone else feel my pain, I felt like I’d just added more pain to the world, without giving anything back.

This was a clearly untenable position. And seeing no answer, I daily prayed for death. “Please,” I urged God or whatever, “just let this just be over.” 

I wasn’t gonna kill myself overtly, cuz I’m just too goddam stubborn. But if God or whatever had taken me out, at any point along that stage, I theoretically would have been immensely grateful. An end to the pain at last. Maybe infinite blackness. Or perhaps a fresh start in my soul’s evolution. Either way sounded good to me.

The funny thing was: I just kept not dying.

Like maybe I wasn’t done yet.

And then one day -- long story short -- I woke up and turned on KCRW, one of the finest radio stations in God’s domain. And Chris Douridas, host of Morning Becomes Eclectic, just happened to feature an interview and live performance with Bjork. One of my favorite living artists. And someone who seemed to be radiating pure life-engaging light, at that juncture in her journey.

She played a lot of amazing music. And said a lot of amazing things. But the one thing she said that literally turned my life around was this:

“Happiness, too,” and I paraphrase here, “is possible. It’s a thing we can learn how to do. And if we put as much time into learning how to be happy as we do into our relationships, or our job, or career, or our favorite sports club, we might get pretty good at it.”

Swear to God, that was the moment my life changed.

Here I was, begging for death to claim me. But frankly, I was tired of lying around, waiting for death. If I had to keep living, I needed a really good reason.

And it wasn’t like I didn’t know what happiness might feel like. I felt happiness every time I heard one of her fucking songs. I wouldn’t even know what depression or sorrow were if I hadn’t loved enough to feel the spark of genuine happiness rise up and sweetly bite me on the ass a trillion times.

It was at precisely that point that I decided to figure out how happiness works. And began training like a bodybuilder, or a martial artist, to develop the skills that might take me there.

How to weaponize joy, into a weapon that hurts no one.

So here are my important safety tips!

THE ANATOMY OF HAPPINESS FOR THE HAUNTED

First, let us define our terms, because everybody’s got their own ideas as to what “happiness” might mean. 

Some define it in terms of goals, as in, “If I finish/sell this story, or book, or script, that would make me really happy.” Or, “If he/she/they fell in love with me, I would be soooo happy.” Maybe it’s a job. Maybe it’s a new apartment or house, maybe in that new town of their dreams. Maybe it’s curing cancer (for those of you who both write horror and are working on that cancer cure!).

Those all sound fine and dandy, and I wish you luck with each! The big thing is, you gotta understand that these are all conditional happinesses, on the deferred payment plan, dependent entirely on the success of your endeavor. If they happen, you presume a rush of happy will ensue. And you might be right. Or you might be wrong. 

One thing I’ve noticed, in my long-ass life of accomplishments and failures, is that these goal-oriented hopes for satisfaction don’t always feel the way you thought they would. The first time I made a major book deal, I absolutely jumped up and down, and threw a party in my head, going, “WOOOOOO!!!” But after the rush wore off, I found myself thinking, “You just got a major book deal. So why are you still SO SAD?”

And, of course, as everybody knows, nothing makes you happier than when shit totally doesn’t go your way. The piece doesn’t sell. They will never fall in love with you. The apartment falls through. People keep dying of cancer.

So much as I advocate for proactively going after the things you think might make you happy, I recommend you do not hang your hat or shingle there. Mostly because you’re banking entirely on shit that’s almost completely out of your control. Your happiness is dependent on the decisions of others, who may not be inclined to grant it to you, or see it as their problem to fix.

Even more, it positions happiness as forever something in the future. Like happiness is some prize you have to wrest from the universe, like an underdog defeating the returning champion (known as “Unhappiness”). And even if you win, Unhappiness will demand a rematch. And this game goes on forever.

Does that sound like fun to you?

No wonder, then, that many people strongly believe that happiness is bullshit. A cheesy Smiley Face emoji. A lie we tell ourselves, because we’re weak and foolish, just another sucker chasing a stick that doesn’t even actually exist, and mocks us every step of the way. 

We’ll never be rich. No one will ever love us. We’ll never live anywhere we actually want to be, or have anything we want to have. Down and down into the abyss, forever.

I can’t argue with this feeling, because I know it all too well. And when we’re in the grip of it, it seems like the only honest and sane response to this horrible, horrible world. Even though we generally feel completely insane, while we’re thinking and feeling it.

The one thing I can say, however, is that you ain’t gonna find happiness that way.

So now let’s talk about what happiness IS, in terms of my understanding. 

I want to suggest that happiness is the state of joy you experience when you’re simply glad to be alive, and aware, and here. Not just okay. Not just making do. And definitely not just spiraling down the wormhole, screaming.

Happiness, for me, is that moment where I catch myself smiling without thinking, without premeditation or purpose. The smile that comes up all by itself. Sneaks up and surprises me by going, “HEY! You feel good right now, baby! DOESN’T THAT FEEL NICE?”

It may be the sun, slicing down through the clouds, and warming you when you were chilled or lightless. It might be a cloud, blocking the sun from overheating you or burning your eyes. It might be the way the light refracts through the glass on your table, the beauty of the shadow on the wall. It might be the wag of the tail of the dog. The laugh of a friend. Or the genuine smile of somebody else, just passing by.

Any kind of enduring happiness is made of a trillion things that just happen, as life keeps happening. But what distinguishes those things is that a little spark ignites in your soul. It says this is good. It says this is beautiful. It says this makes me glad I was here to experience this.

Life is full of a trillion of these teensy incidences. They are everywhere you look, if you know how to see them. 

Which brings me to…

1) LEARN HOW TO RECOGNIZE HAPPINESS, WHEN IT HITS YOU 

You know when you feel it, no matter how blunted or resistant to it you may be. Run with that. Let yourself feel it. Let yourself be glad, for a second. Cherish that moment, fleeting as it may be. That is how you open the door to…

2) CULTIVATING YOUR CAPACITY FOR HAPPINESS

Cuz here’s the thing. It’s hard to be happy if you don’t know how. But you DO know how. You’re probably just not doing it enough. It may seem frivolous. It may seem like a distraction. But it isn’t.

Most of us have deep wells and reservoirs of pain. That’s already more than taken care of. But what we need to carve within ourselves is a well of joy, a sense of well-being every bit as deep as the pain. The deeper we dig it, the more room for it we have. And the more chance they have to balance each other out.

To use an alternate metaphor: we all know how dark shit gets. There is no bottom to how far we can fall. One trap door after another, opening. So that every time you think you hit the bottom, the floor caves in, to an even deeper darkness.

But the fact of the fucking matter is: if there is no bottom, then THERE IS NO TOP. Which means that the light, too, goes on forever. Whether you’re religiously/spiritually inclined or not, the basic physics of the situation imply that without up, there is no down.

And beyond that binary breakdown is the unified field illustrated by the Tao, and its Yin/Yang symbol. A circle, half-white and half-black. Each containing the seed of the other. If the white gets too white, the seed of black blossoms. If the black overwhelms, the seed of light blooms. In either case, in the end, BALANCE IS ACHIEVED. The Universe, going on and on.

Once you pinpoint the shit that actually makes you happy, LEAN INTO THAT SHIT! So that everything that doesn’t make you happy is, in fact, the distraction, from the state you actually hope to achieve.

Notice the light. Notice the shadows. Notice the tail wag, and laughter, and smiles. Notice the spark that goes off within you, every time that happens. And cultivate that spark.

Like Bjork said: the more effort we put into figuring out what makes us happy, and then DOING THOSE THINGS, and maintaining that awareness, the better at it we’re liable to get.

3) DO THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GENUINELY HAPPY. 

This harkens back to the goal-oriented shit I was talking about earlier. Only without leaning on the goals.

You wanna write that thing? GO WRITE THAT THING. But do it not in hopes of future reward, but for the singular pleasure of the doing itself. Maybe people will like it. Maybe they won’t. That’s not your fucking problem. 

And if writing the deepest, darkest thing in the history of the universe somehow lightens your load with its expression, and ignites that spark within you, then that is a fucking win.

The same goes with love. You want somebody to love you? AIM SOME FUCKING HAPPINESS AT THEM. It may not get you what you think you wanted, but it will most definitely give them the warmest and brightest and best you have to offer, without asking anything of them. Which is a very nice thing to do.

And while we’re on the subject….

4) BE NICE TO YOURSELF. 

I know this is one of the hardest things, for almost everyone. But is also the most important, if you want anything that’s any good to pass along to anyone else.

In my experience, we treat ourselves worse than we would ever treat anyone else. And if we’re mistreating others, it’s probably because of how much we hate ourselves. Even the most narcissistic and abusive of us are just taking out on others what we most hate in ourselves.

So my advice is: treat yourself the way you’d treat somebody you really love, at your absolute best. Thank yourself when you do right. Hug and forgive yourself when you do wrong. Accept yourself for who you are. Ever mindful of that spark at your core.

The biggest obstacle most of us have is the impulse to beat the shit out out of ourselves. Letting our self-loathing take the wheel, while our finest selves cower in the back seat, trembling. 

That is no fucking way to live. But that hasn’t stopped us before, and won’t stop us again, until we just stop fucking doing it. 

That means you don’t get to call yourself “stupid” anymore. You don’t get to say “You’re an idiot”, or “You’re a moron”, or “You’re worthless: or “You suck.” Personally, I don’t let anyone talk to me like that And I don’t talk like that to anyone else, either. So why I would I let myself do it to myself?

My advice is to treat yourself like the best friend you’re stuck inside the skin of. Make best friends with yourself. Recognize your flaws, but treat yourself with the kind of kindness and compassion you hope anybody else might grace you with. 

The more you ignite your own spark, the more you have to offer to anyone else.

5) PUT THAT DARK SHIT IN THE WORK INSTEAD

Your friends and loved ones (and lemme be clear: if you have a readership that cares about your work, they will perceive themselves as friends and loved ones, because you will have connected in ways that count) WANT you to address your deepest demons, and be honest every speck of the way.

What they don’t want is for you to lay your bullshit on them in cruel and hurtful ways. There’s no happiness down that path. 

The better you treat other people, the more happy you are likely to be.

Happiness feeds itself, much as unhappiness and depression do. They do so with repetition. 

If you can put all that darkness in the art, you may find yourself relieved from the need to punish others in your personal life, And find yourself rewarded by others who appreciate your courage and compassion. Are inspired by it. And maybe even do so, themselves.

Final note on this subject: there are few things that make me happier than making other people happy. That’s why so many religions talk about the value of being of service to others. The more joy you spread, the more of it there is. That shit is contagious. PASS IT ON!

In conclusion: this is a path, should you choose to choose it. Speaking personally, all I can say is that I’ve become a substantially happier person than I’d ever thought I’d ever be. 

I know a lot of horror people who have worked out their damage through their work, and become happier, more balanced, and better people by following steps similar to these. 

Every time we shine the light, we make the world a brighter and happier place.

It may not be the cure for depression. (Did I mention medicinal weed?)*

But if your spark and mine connected at any point along the way, then at least you know you’re not alone.

Hope you’re nearly as happy to know me as I am to know you.

LOVE YOU!!! 

And those are my emotional safety tips.

------

* (Because it’s legal now in more than half of the United States, and I absolutely swear by it as an alternative to the zombifying effects of much Big Pharma. You just have to find the right strain that works for you, in terms of reducing things like anxiety, depression, and insomnia, as well as more physical ailments from aches and pains to the results of chemo.

That said: if you’ve got the drug that works for you, and weed does not, DO THAT! )