Happiness versus Depression

Christina Bonvicin
May 19, 2009
The Soloist, Part III

What I realized, as I continue to read through The Soloist, is that I'm really starting to not be able to stand the book. I don't what about it is starting to to get to me, but something is. All I know is that I'm finding it harder and harder to pick up the book and read when I know I have to, harder to read more than a chapter in a sitting. The early enjoyment I had when first reading the book seemed to have slipped away with my personality these past two weeks, lost in the desert island that is my senioritis-ed mind. I don't know why it happened, but it did. And I can't seem to get it back.

The questions from last week, of if mental ill people should be forced to take medicine, come to mind. Why? My grandfather refused to take his medication. No, he's not mentally ill. At least, he's not diagnosed as such. He just... wanted to give up. He was in pain, we could all see it. In and out of depressed. So he refused to take his meds. There has to be something wrong, I think, truly wrong if he doesn't want to live any more.

But Nathaniel was living. Abeit a little... unconventionally, yes, but he was doing something he loved. Not my grandfather, who was stuck in a nursing home for over a year. My grandfather needed an escape. Nathaniel doesn't seem to need an escape, but who am I to judge? A mere eleventh grade pediatrician wannabe, someone who knows very little about medicine, let alone mental illness. But, if he's doing something that makes him happy, if maybe not safe, who is anyone to force him to do anything he doesn't want to do?

But, what is happiness? What defines happiness? I've been trying to define it for myself for the past six months, and I am nowhere near close to anything. Is it a state of mind, or a state of being? Physical, emotional, or psychological? Or, merely an illusion of the mind to get you comfortable with yourself then trap you in misery for days or weeks or months on end. How can anyone define happiness? Why does playing music make Nathaniel happy? Why doesn't playing football or baseball or some other sport? Why music? Why not reading, or actually living in a building? Why does Nathaniel find it fun to live on the streets?

I don't understand a lot about Nathaniel but the main thing I don't understand is why he doesn't want to live in an apartment. He and his precious instruments would be safe from the elements and the cigeratte bud throwning people of the streets. He'd be able to wash up and wash his clothes and have a comfortable bed to sleep on, not the cold, hard cement floor of downtown LA. But, then again, the mind is a fickle thing. Some people may like the safety of a warm home, but maybe Nathaniel doesn't. It may possibly remind him of his time when he first had his breakdown, all the medication he was on. Maybe, maybe not.

Focus on...
- grammar
- style/flow
- my ideas vs. your own