The world is so gloomy, I can’t sleep

DEAR BEL

I DON’T know whether it’s the current climate, but I have been feeling miserable and have been unable to sleep.

It almost feels like grief, although there is nothing in my personal life that should be making me feel like this. Even worse, I am drawn to gloom in newspapers and online and have been reading some of the letters you have received to your column.

When they reveal how horrible we can be to each other, especially to those we should love and care for, they always make me cry.

Sometimes I can’t get their sadness (and selfishness) out of my mind. (You are so often compassionate, but when needed you tell them exactly what they need to hear).

I wonder if you ever find out what subsequently happened? Things like this are really bothering me right now.

JENNIFER

RECEnTlY, in my last video for our Mail Plus website, I talked about this very feeling of gloom and referenced the little daisy called the Mexican fleabane (or Erigeron Karvensionus) as a symbol of resilience. It’s tough, common and grows in even stony places, so a fitting emblem of hope in hard times. And yes, I believe that the malaise you describe is a result of coronavirus, the lockdown, the ongoing uncertainty and pessimism about the future.

Many of us feel the same and with good reason.

Being drawn irresistibly to content that makes you feel worse is like compulsively touching a sore tooth, isn’t it?

Or picking a scab because if you make it bleed, at least you’re having an effect.

I waste ages on Facebook (more fool me) making myself furious or depressed by people’s rancid hostility and intolerance.

You read depressing articles and cry reading this column. Oh dear.

Yes, I do often hear back from people whose letters I have printed, and often with heartwarming appreciation.

I also get letters from readers who have not written in but have been helped by reading about others.

For example, this week I received a lovely email from Mrs JS, who wrote: ‘Please find attached a letter of thanks for the advice you provided in last week’s newspaper. It has made such a difference to my sister and I who have been dealing with a very difficult (similar) situation for some time.’

So this is how it works — all of us listening and learning as we reach out to each other.

This week’s quotation from Elizabeth Goudge (did you ever read her lovely children’s classic The little White Horse’?) perfectly describes this process of empathy. I believe that the helpless ‘grief’ (a good word you chose) good people feel for the world and the people in it is a

good thing. Sometimes tears are the only sensible, compassionate response to the sorrows we face.

There is nothing new here: the Roman poet Virgil recognised the condition years ago when he wrote of ‘lacrimae rerum’ — ‘the tears of things.’

When people cry at a play, a film, a piece of music or something moving in print, they are tuning into a universal sense that life is inherently sad — because of our sins and our mortality — but also brave and glorious.

You cry at this column because you can’t bear it that people’s lives can be such a mess.

But nothing is entirely bad or sad. I’m forever saying how grateful I am for all the lovely kind letters — and there are plenty of heart-warming stories in our paper, too. The light balances the gloom, just as sickness is balanced by health.

So please remember that tough little Erigeron that goes on flourishing in the most inhospitable places — and always lifts the heart. If we can’t ‘stay safe’, we must stay strong.