Sharon’s confession
“Depression porn” is a term a Facebook commentator used to “warn” the public about a coming tsunami of celebrity confessions about their bouts with depression. The confessions seem to stem from the recent death of American comic and actor Robin Williams who was found in his home hanging from a belt looped around his neck, allegedly after succumbing to the depths of depression from which he had suffered for decades.
The “warning” was issued after “Megastar” Sharon Cuneta posted on her account an “open letter” to her fans, explaining that she was undergoing a “mid-life crisis,” neglecting her health and her career, putting on weight, thus making the choice of roles more difficult, and antagonizing those she worked with.
Speculations have since abounded on what motivated someone like Sharon, who to this day still commands a wide following, to indulge in so public a soul-baring, on such a sensitive subject. The implication in calling her confession “depression porn” is that Sharon was motivated by nothing other than attention-seeking, riding on the current wave of interest in depression, its causes, its consequences.
I don’t know. The timing may have been suspicious, but then Williams’ death could have simply served as a “trigger” for recollections and realizations. It may have led Ms Cuneta to reflect on her personal circumstances and seek communion with her fans who may be wondering why her career has seemingly hit a snag, such that she appears to have disappeared from the limelight.
I’m sure Sharon isn’t the only celebrity (or semi-celebrity) to feel a kinship with Williams, who built a career making people laugh (with manic intensity) even as he coped with debilitating depression and intimations of mortality (he is said to have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease shortly before his death).
But it’s their very celebrity and privileged lifestyle that seem to feed the public’s curiosity, or disdain. How could people who enjoy a measure of fame, wealth, material comfort and adulation still feel so driven by their inner demons that they think about taking their own lives, or endanger their health in other ways, in Sharon’s case, overeating?
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It’s this that makes me particularly sympathetic to Ms Cuneta, whose battle with the bulge has been quite public and subject to scrutiny, even by people who have no business doing so.
Middle-age is really a time for reckoning, when the wages of bad habits, sloth, overindulgence and the march of time catch up with one. Or in most cases, when a lifetime of carelessness and the natural consequences of gravity lead to all sorts of visible proof—wrinkles, sags, cellulite, excess weight, falling hair and liver spots. (“You know you’re old when children start playing tiddly-winks with your skin,” said comic Erma Bombeck.)
Sadly, for someone in Sharon’s profession, the public attention can be relentless and unforgiving. There is no hiding from paparazzi and uzis, from snarky commentators, from fans and followers, from cynical producers who know that public taste is fickle and are forever on the search for the “next big thing.”
It’s depressing enough that one begins to feel aches and pains where none existed before, when body parts begin to assert their presence with stiffness and soreness. But when these take place in the glare of public fascination, then the ordeal can be daunting.
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Even worse are the internal aches, which the world doesn’t notice or pay attention to.
Depression is not “garden variety loneliness.” As those going through it attest, it can be genuinely debilitating, draining one of energy and the will to confront life. A former newsman says that at its worst, depression can plunge a person into a dark hole from which climbing out seems impossible, and that summoning the energy needed to commit suicide can even be a sign of recovery.
But even when temporary, as with a mid-life crisis, depression can paralyze a person with a sense of hopelessness, of self-blame, of endless self-criticism. All of a sudden, one realizes that one’s “best years” have been left behind. That from this point on, it’s downhill all the way, riding out to the sunset, etc. etc.
That’s why Sharon Cuneta reached out to those whom she thought would lend an ear and a sympathetic heart, to those who followed her career and loved her as a performer, a role model and, even if from a distance, a friend. The only sad thing about this is that she did so on social media, which does not provide anyone with the cover of privacy or respects personal space. You use social media to talk to friends, but those on the fringes are free to comment and carp as well.
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To Sharon: Know that many have been “there” before you, and many are still to follow. But your brave example of publicly acknowledging the emotional, psychological and physical crises you’re confronting enables your fans, friends and even your detractors to recognize the signs and realize that there is no “shame” in admitting one’s weakness or even the fact that one is getting on in years.
The great part about moving on along the timeline, and I’ve written this before, is that you no longer care. You no longer care what random strangers have to say about your figure or the way you dress, or your behavior. It no longer matters if people like you, for by this stage in your life, you know who and whose opinions matter most—family, loved ones, loyal friends, esteemed colleagues. You no longer care if you make the fashion pages, or score with the fashion police. You are your own person, and no explanations are necessary.
