Life On Mars-- Comparative Application

I've only just watched the first episode of "Life on Mars" (starring the lovely John Simm, of whom I think far too highly), and I have decided this: Being Sam Tyler is eerily similar to being depressed. If I had to put it vaguely, you feel lost and ill at ease. That is the feeling of depression, at least for me. And lest you think I am adding a little "drama", let me assure you--I am. But I was also diagnosed with depression this year, and feel I know just enough to let some little rants spill from my lips, with only a few eye-rolls in response. Just remember, as you are inevitably judging me, that I am being sincere.

Sam Tyler has a history. Sam Tyler has a past. But it's all muddled now--he can't fully comprehend his circumstances as they happen currently; he's dwelling on what logically should be, not what is. That is a feeling I am quite familiar with, and it is represented by a rather common thought that grazes my mind less and less frequently now: "Is something vastly wrong with me? Am I feeling what everybody else is feeling? Am I seeing what everyone else is seeing? Is this normal?" And I thought I was just being paranoid and insecure, not 'depressed'. Turns out it was a little bit of all of the above, and depression had more weight than I had previously thought--and less ridiculous moping over obviously painful circumstances. (It turns out it's not just a term girls throw around after their hunky boyfriends break up with them!) But for me, and this is perhaps odd, the thing that connected this comparison between this character and myself was the irritation and inexplicable intolerance for people who just wanted to help me.

The condition kind of made me give the world a cold shoulder; I had a foolishly self-absorbed and self-indulgent view of the universe. I thought I was absolutely alone, and that no person on this Earth could ever even comprehend a word that came from my mouth. It's confusing... I thought I was both brilliant and worthless. I had all the insight one could ever want (perhaps 'too much insight'), and yet nobody could understand. Sam Tyler feels this in a literal sense, because though he respects everyone he meets in this old decade to a certain degree, he feels they are incapable of genuinely understanding him. The real difference is he's right.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with a long-winded thesis about allusions and metaphors, and other clever things script writers potentially did and didn't do (intentionally and otherwise) because that really isn't my thing, and it really shouldn't be. And should I ever get the gall to presume you want to be reading my theories rather than my opinions, then I'll know I've turned into a real dick, and never work in this town again! (Yeah, you heard me.) As always, thank you for tuning in at the random intervals I know you do, and do enjoy the random intervals at which I post; because I've never actually nailed down that whole "scheduling" thing my successful friends mention during polite conversation of their many great endeavors. I'm thinking of improving that skill at some ironically undetermined time (don't hate me, but I am going to be a hypocrite and theorize that I won't ever get into the scheduling game, based on everything I have ever done ever). I may have just wasted a few minutes of your life, so thanks for that. You're a doll!

And everyone watch "Life on Mars"! I know I'm pretty far behind the times, just now getting into it, but there's bound to be somebody out there who hasn't seen it and SHOULD. Because everyone SHOULD. It seems pretty fucking fantastic. (And come on you guys... John Simm. It speaks for itself.)

YOU'RE WELCOME,

Emma Hurt