Sucker for Self-help.

‘Attention passengers to Amsterdam Central Station, all trains have been canceled until further notice due to collision with a person, our apologies for the delay’.

A collective sigh and groan could be felt on the train platform as phones switched on and fingers swiped to the train time table app.

She sighed, hands in pockets, and resisted the urge to check alternative routes home. Nobody was waiting for her anyway. She raised the volume on her headphones and mulled the announcement over in her head. ‘Due to collision with a person’. Was it deliberate?

She walked towards the escalator, merging with the throng of other passengers and stepped carefully on. At the end she experienced that little bit of panic she did every time she stepped off an escalator. It was a mixture of not wanting to trip and fall and not wanting to bother anyone around her with her clumsiness.

She had plenty of time to kill, so she figured she might as well check out the book store. The place was packed, as always. People were shuffling around looking at magazines and books, turning their heads this way and that. Mostly she tried her best to avoid being in anyone’s way. Her preferred section was the English language books. She liked wondering about the people who were looking at them too. Were they people who only spoke English? Internationals living in the Netherlands? Or were they people like her, who preferred reading in English because it made more sense? Because the words and meanings came easier in English? Why are things so hard to explain sometimes? Let alone trying to explain in a language you don’t feel comfortable with. ‘A collision with a person’. Did the person slip and fall? Or did they throw themselves? Did they try to explain how they felt to anyone before they did? Did anyone listen or try to understand?

She browsed the titles on the spotlight table. Top 10 English. There’s been an increase in self-help books lately. Were people really trying to help themselves or was she only noticing now that she wanted to help herself too? What were people looking for help with? Depression? Suicide? Being happy? Wanting to be happy implies you’re unhappy all the time. People don’t talk about this enough.

‘The subtle art of not giving a fuck’ This one has been on the top 10 for a long time. She’s already subscribed to his blog. It’s funny how the word fuck is taboo as fuck and yet, here he is, Mark Manson, basically cashing in on using curse words in self-help because nobody else has the balls to. Well played sir.

‘Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life’ This one keeps calling to her. It’s probably the Japanese looking cover. She’s a sucker for Japan. The powder blue color, blossoms and lettering all appeal to her, but the question is, will this book make her happy? Japan probably will, for a time, but she has to come back to the Netherlands sometime. Running away to another country is never a long-term solution. She found that out when she moved to the Netherlands.

‘This naked mind: control alcohol’. This isn’t a book in the store, but it comes to mind as she’s browsing. It’s not in the store because it’s one of those hard, taboo things nobody wants to talk about. Reviews say ‘this book will; save your life’. She’s read it, but she isn’t sure it has saved her life.

Her addictions have a harder grasp on her now, but her mornings haven’t gotten any lighter. Her apartment hasn’t felt any less empty. Her words haven’t been easier to say or better received. Still, she’s been crying in the shower less, so that’s something.

‘The Happiness Project: Or Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun’. It seems like a good idea, but for some reason reading about how someone else is trying to do activities that should make her happy doesn’t appeal to her. It feels sort of like following people on Instagram; It’s all perfect so it makes you feel like shit, but you only add to the miserable platform because you post perfect looking shit too, otherwise you don’t get the likes that make you feel good about your perfectly posed posts. So what are we liking really? It feels like we’re getting approval for ourselves but all we’re getting is approval for our ability to see patterns. ‘These posts do well so I should post more of this’. Why?

We’re perpetually faking it and not making it, it seems.

‘The obstacle is the way’. This is right up her alley; Suffering is inevitable, so find ways to use it. She isn’t quite sure this counts as a self-help book. What is self-help anyway? Helping yourself implies you need help. Help with what?

We need to get comfortable being uncomfortable. Having the hard conversations, feeling the though shit. You can’t just say fuck depression and expect it to go away. You can’t paint unhappiness blue and pretend it isn’t there. You can’t make suicide a ‘collision with a train’ and replace feeling anything with a complaint. We’re so afraid of pain that we’re burying any emotion we have, thus covering our own happiness in dirt.

She didn’t buy anything today.

Instead, she left the store. She stared at the time table without really looking at it. ‘Collision with a person’. Talk about obstacles getting in your way. This entire Train Station and all the throngs of people in it was her obstacle. So what do you do when things are in your way? Do you launch yourself off a platform in front of a train?

She looked away from the sign and looked at the exit. Then she left the train station. She passed the bus stops and the lines of people waiting. She felt cold and uncomfortable. There were crowds of faces all bundled up and noses lit up by phones. Her breath mingled with clouds of warm breaths swirling all around her. She looked at them but she didn’t stop. Her nose hurt now. The amount of people grew less and less as buses crammed full of people roared passed her. She kept walking through the pain until she was alone.

Hands shoved into her pockets and balled into fists. She shook off the cold and walked. She walked until it didn’t hurt anymore. She walked until she was home.