When just singin' THE BLUES was the cure!

Before Funky Freudian PsychoBabble, BigPharma Mind-Melting Drugs, & Ad-nauseum Online Compulsively Repulsive Confessionals -- folks just sang, danced, wrote poems, painted, and made music.

Picasso, Blue Period, "La Vie"  1903

One of Daisy's daughters prompted this particular piece of writing today.  A sensitive but purdy much solid-thinking teen, she came to me down-right stumped by the stuff even her otherwise smart and savvy friends were saying—and saying often, like it was some crazy-coordinated chorus.

It appears that the two more popular phrases of tweens and teens today are, "I'm so depressed" and "I have social anxiety."  

Golly. Gulp.

From what she told me, the moment one of the girls copped to this "condition," nearly all the other chimed in (drumroll please…) "yeah, Me Too ™." And then they each gave examples and so on.  

She added, "So it's a thing now, to have some mental disease.  My friends who do social media say it's all over and everyone now has this 'social anxiety’ but also depression.  So they are always coming to park meetup and nearly the first thing they say is, 'Oh I'm so depressed.' “

Depression?  Well dang it, at times ALL OF US GOT BLUE—or got "the blues" as they said…

But really, friends,WHO talks like this?—or rather, I fear, who "TikToks" like this?! as such psycho-babble is (I'm certain) media-driven and the agenda looms large on the horizon.  My kiddo and just one other girl tended to be the only ones perplexed by this seeming common refrain.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN when GROUP-THINK MEANS GROUP SELF-DIAGNOSED MENTAL ILLNESS?

Like I said GOLLY.  I'll add:  That's very messed up.

Now back in my day, when emotional ups and downs were EXPECTED (not, as I said, pathologized), singers turned concerns and frustrations into lyrics, wrote poetry, and created beautiful and meaningful music and nobody turned the admittedly tough teen years into a frickin' disease—I mean didn't we all feel like Janis Ian at times? (I sure did!)

And all those of us who related, we ordinary kids (and adults), we sang along.  On "days like this" we sang along loud and hard—it helped!  Sometimes we mosey'd over to the piano or picked up our own guitars (or plastic recorders, hal!) and created our own songs and diary entries and art. 

Many mama's (grannies too!) were always helpful lending a sympathetic ear:

And long after the teen years it was expected that if you had troubles you would and could sing the blues (literally):

AND OFTEN that alone made you feel better. 

Or writing or painting or dancing' or if you were not the artsy kind, maybe you just took a long walk, talked to friends or tugged on the ear of a sympathetic family member.  Hugged your DOG (or cat)

And no, it was NOT a virtual cat or dog or a virtual "furry" (perish the thought!) or some whacked out "animal identity." Real, live, warm, "man's best friend."

Using heavy-duty-strength psychiatric words for normal teenhood is harmful (obviously) as it gets kids thinking something is WRONG. And then (kaching!) comes the money-making business of it all—the grifters show up with pills, prescriptions, treatments/therapies, influencers with ideas and other new-fangled bullcrap.  And eventually the medical establishment will validate all this bonafide bullcrap because, hey, $$$.  Depression-affirming surgery anyone?

All this diagnosis is fairly new and it appears to be growing AS A RELIGION among teens and young adults.  There are testimonials, confirmations, affirmations. (Can I get a witness!? Amen!)

In fact, it used to be that psychiatry with all its labels and was not even worth 5 cents. (Lucy had few takers) and what Charlie really needed was just kindness and sound advice from his thougtful pal Linus:

If anyone in this kids-are-really-funny-little-adults weird mashup comic strip world could claim that sometimes life seemed unfair and lint got in'ta the chewin' gum, it was Charlie Brown and yet, despite the "shrink" jokes (jibes usually at Lucy's expense), NOBODY thought poor Charlie had clinical depression or social anxiety.  (The “doctor” was a bossy little girl trying to earn some change and sound authoritative, right? Spot-on Schulz! No beagle pun there, the guy nailed it even back then.)

And remember, things ALWAYS turned up for Charlie—the Little Red Headed Girl danced with him, the kids turned the wimpy little Christmas Tree into something sweet and special, and the ever-plucky Charlie got over his funk, often with the help of very thoughtful (and often pensive) best-buddy Linus.   

So… always look on bright side of life (Daisy's a huge Python fan ..):

Of COURSE I don't mean to dismiss or trivialize someone who is actually, sincerely, and truly depressed (in a "clinical" way or with true deep problems like, say Lady Day). But having your average teen girl be "depressed" near-constantly and per a trend turning a true illness on it's head and making it like some univeral badge of honor is HUMBUG.  (Hmmm… sounds a bit like gender dysphoria unless you are like 1 in 100,000 people except that now EVERYONE has a gender identity crisis and this same daughter now personally knows 7 "theys"…).

LOST OUR WAY…

Ya know we've really lost our way when everything but a sneeze is labeled a mental illness, when normal human behavior (grief, longing, melancholy..) is pathologized and when genuine and serious mental health issues (like mistaking your wife for a hat…) are "upllifed" to give you some sort of bullcrap status on a made-up scam-scale of intersectionality (a.k.a. social credit). 

It's just too much.  SURE back in the day there were some who had additions and afflictions and a few with genuine monkeys on their backs, but it wasn't a nation on opioids, this was NOT the norm.  Most MOTHERS were not on "Little Helpers" (the song makes it clear "though she's NOT really ill, there's a little yellow pill").  

Hmmm… back in those halcyon days of my own kid-hood everyone had natural immunity and you were told to GET chicken pox (not git SHOT for IT…and yeah, it's as dark as I mean).

HEY HEY, IT'S WHAT I SAY…

So my daughter asks if this thing her friends are calling "social anxiety" even exists. (A good thought indeed!) 

I said, truthfully, "NOPE."

She replied, "I thought so," and asked me to elaborate a little.

So I did.  Sure, we had shy kids and some were super-shy but it wasn't anything pathological or needing treatment (nothing drugs were supposed to fix!) nor was it a badge of honor. AND IT WAS FINE TO SAY SHY—there was no "shy-shaming." (Golly, where have we come?…)

As my daughter knows, Daisy here was a big mouth mostly, even when the bullies were at 'er good n' plenty (they were), but more than once I'd go "set down" next to the shy ones and talk 'em up.  No boys to dance with?  Well, heck, come dance with me, I'll jig with anyone (or as it was…"boogie" because that's what we called it then and nobody else at my school liked "jiggin').  So I'd round up a group of us, the shy ones plus we goofballs and we'd all just "cut a rug" and have a great time.  Jus' like this—which makes me HAPPIER than a PIG with a trough'a corn n' molasses!:

And this too—if I haven't lost all of ya's yet (Go June go!) -

Some skew shy, some skew bold.  That's life, it's not a diagnosis. So while being on the shy side (a lot more flattering than having "social anxiety" which sounds WAY too close to having a “social disease!”) certainly was not something to cheer about when the palms sweat and the voice got all 'caught," it was NORMAL.  Some kids were loud, others quiet.  Social anxiety is bunk. (Or near-bunk outside of the leper world)

So my kid who "figger'd as much" was grateful for my take on it all. 

How many well-meaning mamas out there are FOOLED though? 

Hornswaggled into thinking that "social anxiety" is a real "thing," not a construct, and that their child's delicate condition needs to be AFFIRMED (and possibly treated—or treated with kid gloves!) and regrettably is not summarily malarkey'd out of the ball park as should happen. 

How many mama and papas out there hear "depressed" and think their kid actually IS and take them to a…. SHRINKER MAN?

…or yes, SHRINKER LADY OR (today) SHRINKER "PERSON"-oy--- if you want to be “inclusive” (oy again)

All this social anxiety baloney, be it a new religion or a dangerous trend, gets a lot of "validatin'" and hugs and "emojis of empathy" in the emails my girl tells me.

So what should'ya do instead?

You can shake your blues away like Ann Miller here:

You can definitley Tap your Troubles Away like Rita Moreno:

SO…wrapping it up, my dear daughter then concluded, "It's bullshit, right mama?"

And I said, "Yes dear, don't curse." 

FIN

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CODA
Gotta end with a song though! So when you're down…do you stay there? NO SIRREE.. YOU Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off, and START ALL OVER AGAIN!

And ONE MORE TIME! (I could watch this all day!)

And last but not least (gratuitous camp adoration here but this makes me smile:)

not mistakin' a cow pie for a moon pie!
Daisy

And Bob's yer uncle!