THE DOCTOR IS IN

VOTER'S BLOCK

Around the time of our invasion of Afghanistan, I had one of those dreams that seems silly written down but that carried such an emotional charge that the memory still increases my heart rate.

I dreamed that the Disney Corporation had staged a military takeover of the US. Citizens were imprisoned for failing to smile, for careless personal hygiene--and for reading books that had not been "disneyfied"--that is, rewritten in a simple, upbeat style that eliminated any trace of ambiguity or angst. The original Winnie the Pooh and Charlotte's Web were banned; the "official" versions were allowed. The corporation was working on an official Bible.

I was living in the subway station in Borough Hall, Brooklyn, with nine or ten other wardrobe-impaired, unsmiley readers. We had raided the Brooklyn Heights library and were guarding its contents; we made periodic forays into the upper world to slip unapproved books onto the shelves of the local Barnes & Noble (there were no independents left) and into odd corners and niches where they would be picked up by other displaced readers and spirited to relevant locations. I knew it was only a matter of time before we were discovered, imprisoned, and, probably, Disneyfied ourselves.

This dream has been on my mind lately because a number of writers have confided that anxiety related to the coming election is preventing them from concentrating on their work. The first time I heard this, from a client, my impulse was to dig deeper, to uncover more personal contributions to this block. But then other clients, and several friends, described a similar state of mind, and I began to realize that "voter's block" is a real phenomenon, and its "deeper, more personal" underpinning is the horrified perception that our last hope of national salvation is being yanked away--by a gang of smiling, stylishly dressed anti-intellectuals.

I bring up my dream, not because of any illusions about originality of plot (equal parts Ray Bradbury and Roz Chast, by my reckoning) but because, as disturbing as it was, it contained the key to my recovery from a similar bout of angst-ridden paralysis seven years ago.

We are sophisticated creatures, but our neural wiring apparently includes artifacts of our primate and cave-dwelling ancestors. When we are faced with danger, our attention narrows dramatically, often allowing us to focus on little more than what we perceive to be the basics of survival. If we hear a sound in the woods that might be a bear, our long-term chances are not enhanced by stopping to admire the foliage.

This narrowing worked well for our ancestors, because the dangers they faced were usually concrete and finite. The noise turned out to be either a bear or a friend. If it was a bear, either they outran it or--well, they must have outrun it, or they wouldn't be our ancestors. Once they had arrived home safely and impressed the rest of the family with their drawings of the fourteen-foot, fire-breathing monster that had nearly devoured them, they could return to breathing, eating, sleeping, and thinking normally, at least until the next crisis.

Our modern crises are more protracted and less clear-cut, and this puts us at a disadvantage compared to our ancestors. We aren't built to keep up this fever pitch indefinitely. It wears on us. We lose sleep, and our ability to think clearly is impaired. We become edgy and short-tempered. We lose our appetites, or we scarf down bowlfuls of cookie dough. We attempt to distract ourselves but we can't read, and we lose the thread of even the simplest movies and TV shows. Not only can't we focus on writing, but we begin to believe there is no point to it--the world is ending, and our silly scribblings are a pointless, futile exercise.

The world may well be ending--but our writing is neither futile nor pointless. We think it is because we are caught in this vicious cycle of narrowed attention and panic reaction. And the longer we stay there, the more intense it gets, and the more hopeless the situation seems. To some, it begins to seem that the only possible solution is violence, against those in power or against the self. But this is panic thinking.

The way out is to formulate a plan, to identify a purpose, and to take steps to realize it. Taking purposeful action assures our primitive brain that we are in control, and that it can kick back a bit. My dream, I realized, was a statement by my unconscious that authentic, unprettified expression is important--important enough to take great risks for--and that while I could not control the actions of our "leaders," I could behave in ways that support free expression, my own and others'.

Once I had determined this, I could think again. I wasn't "cured" of anxiety--I doubt that many thinking people in this century can claim that--but I was able to breathe, to eat, and to write. My circle of attention widened, from obsessing over what others were doing in my name, to what I could do to help--and I regained the ability to enjoy my life, moment to moment.

In times of repression, honest writing is a subversive act. The way to overcome voter's block, I'm convinced, is to write, as truthfully as possible, about the things that matter to us, and to keep writing in the face of pressure to clean up, to smile, and to conform. And who knows--maybe some of those salvaged statements will find their way onto bookshelves or into the hands of other frightened and disoriented individuals, who, reading them, will take heart, realizing they are not alone.

Of course it's not enough. But it's not nothing.

Susan O'Doherty, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist with a New York City-based practice. A fiction writer herself, she specializes in issues affecting writers and other creative artists. Her book,  Getting Unstuck Without Coming Unglued: A Woman's Guide to Unblocking Creativity (Seal, 2007) is now available in bookstores. Send your questions to her at Dr.Sue at mindspring dot com.

 

 

Comments

[Sarah]

Thanks Susan- I had a similar thought this morning: that acting in a hopeful way can generate hope, even if we don't "think" there's any hope. It also helps to remind myself that other people, down the centuries, in worse conditions than these, continued to create, and continue to inspire.

[Susanne Dunlap]

I loved this essay. I'm personally in a state of panic about Sarah Palin, especially after having received my brother's assessment of her qualifications (he lives in Alaska). I feel all control over my life slipping away and am afraid the world as I know it will no longer exist. That and an unusually complicated life right now has also made it difficult for me to knuckle down and write. But it's always good to read that there are others who are having the same experience. Thanks, Dr. Sue.

[Leslie]

This was very helpful. Thank you.

[Lisa Hendrix]

Hands down the best post you've written, Dr. D. I am terrified the "Palin-McCain" ticket (as she terms it) will steer us so far down the path to a spin-doctored, thought-controlled state that we can't come back. Thank you.

[Richard Grayson]

I am terrifically annoyed by the obnoxious superiority of many Obama supporters, and some of that is evident in the terror they feel at the (all-too-likely) prospect of a McCain victory. (Full disclosure: I have donated money to Obama's campaign. Yesterday, in fact.)

I have assumed all along that Obama would lose -- just like most of the candidates I've supported for President or in whose campaigns I've worked for President, Senator, Governor, Mayor, etc. I fully expect McCain to win, and if he does, my life will go on just as it did during the administrations of Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford, Carter, Reagan, Bush, Clinton and Bush.

I don't see any difference in either my state of happiness or my anxiety level no matter what party is in the White House. I had three severe periods of anxiety, all of which began in Democratic administrations.

As for my writing, it probably peaked when Jerry Ford was in office and it's been downhill ever since.

I've run for office myself and worked hard in numerous, mostly losing, campaigns. I suggest that anyone who is worried about Obama not winning the election (to me, as an Obama supporter who has seen many candidates close up, he is just another politician in the end - as they all are, including many wonderful people who did magnificent thigns) go work in his campaign.

If you are in New York, where Obama is a shoo-in, you can spend weekends in Pennsylvania, where the race is closer. Or you can help Democrats take the one remaining Republican congressional seat in the city by volunteering in the Brooklyn office or Staten Island office (I can tell you about this) of City Councilmember Mike McMahon.

If you are elsewhere, I assure you there is work for you to do in some way.

Working relieves anxiety. I've been diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder, and I've always found activity helpful. Even if you lose the election, you will know you did your part.

And you also might learn what I have from actually doing the work in campaign after campaign - that politics isn't a life-or-death matter and the opposing side also has good people working for it.

As a satirist, I can only express delight at the prospect of having Sarah Palin as President - my last book of stories has on its cover a pig with lipstick and rimless glasses (and Barbara Bush-style pearls) - but I'm so stupid that I'm going to vote against my own class interests!

[Richard Grayson]

One caveat: If you are seriously worried that we might get a worse President than George W. Bush, you need to see a psychiatrist immediately.