Hell is other people – a stage production of Jean-Paul Sartre’s “No Exit”.
“Hell is other people” is one of Jean-Paul Sartre’s most famous quotes. It comes from his play “No Exit”, in which three unpleasant people spend their first day in hell. It’s just a room, and the door doesn’t work.
This is not what was going through my head when I got locked in the toilet at home the other night.
I tried all the practical things: I fiddled with the lock, I turned the handle. I did the stupid things that people do in movies: I jiggled the handle and pulled on the door. It became clear the mechanism in the handle was broken and I was trapped.
I thought of an old birthday party when I was about seven or eight years old, at the old house where I grew up. For some inexplicable reason, the toilet had a lock on the outside.
I remember us kids being called to account by Mum, all standing in a circle in the hallway while she uttered the legend: “Who locked Uncle Stan in the toilet?”
Poor Uncle Stan. How long had he been in there? I hadn’t locked him in. Being a goody-two-shoes, such a thing wouldn’t ever occur to me. It was probably one of my female cousins, they were always the ones stirring up shit.
A few years later, Uncle Stan collapsed in the garden unexpectedly and died. I was there when it happened. I went to a room with my cousins and hid. I was old enough to understand that something bad had happened.
And then an odd thought occurred to me: I shouldn’t be here. This is a very personal, private family moment. I should get out of the way, so I’m not a nuisance.
But they were my family. Why shouldn’t I be there?
Back in the toilet, I started banging on the door in the hope that George and Nick upstairs would hear me. I wasn’t going to start screaming like Jennifer Jones in The Towering Inferno.
A slight panic overtook me. The door was obviously busted. Even if they do hear me, how are they going to open it? It’s the only way out of the bathroom.
Eventually, George heard me and came downstairs. The door opened from the other side, he gave me a hug and we decided it was probably a good idea not to shut the door again until it gets fixed.
Last night, I was too depressed to go out to the RUOK Day Vicbears dinner. The irony of that was not lost on me. A number of possible options ran through my head – the typical coping mechanisms of the depressed: I could get drunk. I could go man-hunting on an app, go out and get laid. I could go to bed, possibly with the aid of more than the recommended dosage of sedative meds.
I did none of these things. I decided to talk to someone instead. It was not an easy conversation. There were tears involved. There was shit dredged up from my past which still dogs me. There were long periods of silence.
But at the end of it all, I felt better. Outpourings of emotion and disconnected thoughts gave way to understanding, clear thought, and even a few laughs.
Hell is not other people, it’s created in our own minds, as it always has been. And sometimes we lock ourselves in the toilet.
For me I’d be more inclined to say “Hell is without people”. I’ve become a lot more sociable in years gone by and while I still act recluse when I first meet certain people its that initial introduction that spurs me on to try harder and get to know them. I don’t think I could cope without the contact of other people in my life. I mean sure there are times when people can make me feel like I’m living in hell but the same can be said for situations beyond my control – nothing is perfect but each interaction has its own importance. As for being locked in I’d be more worried if I was locked in and had just taken a number 2 – just a light note to end on Chris. =}
With the weather being so dry recently in the Northern Rivers (NSW Australia), most internal downstairs doors are too out of plumb to shut, but I’d never think of shutting the door if I was on my own anyway. It’s good that you have neighbours so close, Chris. For some of us in more rural areas or who just don’t have a good rapport with the neighbours, it can be a constant point of anxiety. When I go to Brisbane, over 2 hours drive away, I worry if my companion who always stays home will fall down the stairs or have a heart attack. There are no neighbours that I can ring to check on him. My mother had a stroke on her own, but was lucky enough to get off the carpet after a while and phone for an ambulance.
This is one of the reasons I would prefer to have an ‘extended family’ or communal type of ‘lifestyle’, not so much living in the same house, but within hearing range of some ‘family’ or friends. So many friends are living on their own now and are likely to stay ‘single’ and I am yet to put together a compatible ‘family’ of more than two… so far.
To me, real community is having friends closeby; people who will notice if you were absent or indoors for too long and knock on your door to see how you are. When I am depressed, I don’t go out or phone a friend. It’s too easy to just sleep, eat or become obsessed with a ‘hobby’. I’m not that inclined to talk. I’ve found that even counsellors find it hard to listen to me when I’m expressing myself. I’m more able to listen to someone who is depressed than listen to a ‘counsellor’. A fellow who had been in prison for several years said he did the same thing as me…sleep and dream were his escape too.
Reblogged this on JHENBAJENTING and commented:
Hell is not other people, it’s created in our own minds, as it always has been – Bipolar Bear :] this is so true. nothing can frighten us if we just believe in ourselves :]
Sorry to hear that you were really depressed, but I am glad that out of all the options you picked the one which was actually helpful for you (and I am glad that there was someone you could talk to). Sometimes asking someone to listen just seems so hard.
This person created that option for me. It’s really important to offer that opportunity to people who you think need to talk. But you have to be ready to listen.