Prodigal Son Analysis through my Mental Health Lens

Prodigal Son is a fantastic show. One of the reasons I got so drawn into it is because I can relate to Malcolm. I have PTSD, night terrors, panic attacks...in short - trauma. 

Malcolm’s trauma, and how he deals with it, plays a significant role in the show and the writer’s have done a great job exploring this, but there’s always room to explore further. 

For as much as I have in common with the character of Malcolm, I have just as many differences. I’m not pretty, I’m not rich, I don’t have medication that works for me, and my father’s not a serial killer. I’m average looking on a good day, totally broke, allergic to the majority of SSRI’s and my dad’s a geologist. Writing all of that down... I realize that only the last point works in my favor. 

My own personal drabbles aside, there’s a lot that I’ve experienced that I’m sure the show could explore as well. 

For one, finding the right medication can be a slow, terrifying and tedious process. There can be side effects...withdrawals like ‘brain zaps,’ when you’re going off one and getting on another. It can be quite rough. There’s maintenance medication, and emergency medication like Xanax. Malcolm said that he’s wildly dependent on Benzos, but I don't believe we've ever seen him take an emergency medication.

Still, he has his medication and his routine down, which is good. Maybe he’s got all that figured out already. I don’t really know what it's like to have that all figured out. I’ve tried. I’ve been prescribed (what feels like) nearly everything and have had a whole host of terrible side effects - one of which (rather ironically) is anxiety. My body simply can’t break down anxiety medication, the drugs build up in my system until side effects become inevitable. That’s just my own physiology though.

Another thing that works out pretty well for Malcolm is how others, namely his team, treats him. They know that he’s ‘different,’ but they accept him. In real life...well...in my experience...it’s not like that.

What it *is* like is people doing one of three things. 1) Judging you, 2) trying to help you or 3) blowing you off entirely. I personally devote a massive amount of time and energy attempting to ‘come off’ as normal. I do things that scare me to death - that I wouldn’t normally do - just to prove my normalcy. But I’m not normal.

I bend over backwards to make concessions for other people, but (aside from a few family members) no one does the same for me. They don’t do it because they don’t understand. And if I try to explain my aversion to certain things...if I try to explain my anxiety to someone who has never dealt with it themselves (or know someone who has)... it’s nearly impossible to explain. It’s like trying to describe colors to someone who’s colorblind.

There’s this inherent loneliness, this clawing desire to be known and understood that goes unmet, and this massive fear that no one out there cares or understands. 

You try to explain what's going on in such a way that people will understand.

To demonstrate the disheartening result of me trying to open up to people, these are the kinds of responses I hear from people in me trying to explain: “Why don’t you just get over it?” “You should put yourself out there more.” “Well I never had a problem with XYZ, why do you?” “Being anxious means you’re not being strong enough in your faith.” “Have you tried essential oils?” Have you tried yoga?” “You should go Keto.” “It sounds like you need to work on XYZ…” “Why do you have PTSD? You were never in a war.”

Eventually, you just stop putting yourself out there. You stop trying to make friends. You stop trying to date. Because the experiences you have - the truly bad ones - are so crushing, discouraging and heart wrenching. 

I’ve had bosses pick on me for being anxious. I’ve had some bosses ask me to do tasks that really made my anxiety quite bad - and I did them anyway, rather than trying to explain. I’ve had terrible coworkers, and awful people who I thought were my friends, who turned out not to be. 

And Malcolm’s team is just...there for him...supporting him. And it’s wonderful. But it would also be wonderful to see him interact with someone who really doesn’t get it. Because that happens quite a lot.

Switching gears, I’ve also had some different experiences when it came to therapists (if I could afford them). I had a good one, but she went to work at a hospital. She left, and she was the only therapist I had ever connected with. I tried to see one before her, but we didn’t connect at all and it left me wondering if therapy was even an option for me. Then I found her and it became a useful and necessary tool. It worked out beautifully, but then she left. Now, I'm struggling with my anxiety now more than ever...but I don’t have her...so I’m trying someone new. 

And each time you start with a therapist, it’s like starting at zero. Recalling all of your trauma with them...wondering if they can help or not. One lady I saw, who was very much the wrong fit, told me that I couldn’t have a kid on my own. That it wasn’t right if I didn’t have a husband. Needless to say - that didn’t work out.

And you do try everything. You try the tapping method and brain spotting. You do the spit test to see how your body breaks down medication. You do genetic testing and find out that you have not one - but two genetic markers that show a predisposition towards anxiety. You try traditional therapy and so many other things because, more than anything, you want to be normal. People say normal is overrated, but it isn’t. It’s a golden, beautiful ideal that feels so out of reach - so unattainable sometimes. 

Meanwhile...you’re not sure when it happened, but you’ve somehow got this label. This necklace that says, “broken,” that’s chained around your neck. And you carry it, believing that you are inherently defective - the belief seeping into other areas of your life like a poison. 

You try to cope, but that’s not always possible. Malcolm copes through his job, but that can be extremely dangerous, as I found out when I no longer had a job. You have to be able to stand on your own...without putting your chips into anything that you have the potential to lose. A job. A relationship. A certain home. A particular friend. 

What would happen if Malcolm no longer had his job? Or like...during this quarantine, for example...he wasn’t able to do it? 

I think Malcolm said it best when he said that he’s a mess, but he’s a functioning mess. Right now, I can’t make that same claim. There are peaks and valleys of dealing with anxiety on this level. There are moments - years - where I did wonderfully. And then there are moments like this - years - where I’m at the very lowest point possible. 

It’s a rollercoaster ride that you can’t get off. There are moments of progress and major setbacks. 

I realize that the show’s main focus isn’t Malcolm’s mental state - although it probably could be - but I think that there is more room for the show to delve into this ongoing battle more. 

I’m terrible at transitions at 12:37 am so I’ll just go on in saying that there’s another thing I, personally struggle with. My Dad has cancer. Terminal. And I often feel guilt. Guilt for not spending enough time with him or guilt because I don’t get along with him. We’re quite different people and he - in no way, shape, or form understands what my anxiety/PTSD is. Some of the most hurtful things ever said to me, were said by him. And it creates this dichotomy. On one hand, I love him - and on the other, he’s hurt me beyond measure. 

I think Malcolm feels this same dichotomy, only in a different way. His father’s a monster. He wants to hate him - part of him does. But part of him also loves him. There's guilt there. It’s the same type of guilt that I have, although it’s a different flavor - it exists for a different reason. 

I’m not really allowed to be mad at my dying father. Malcolm’s not really allowed to love his monster of a father. Etcetera, etcetera. Which I think is a fascinating bit of cognitive dissonance for the show to dissect.

So...that is my very lengthy and probably barely relevant analysis of the show through my mental health lens. 

There is such a stigma attached to mental health that I didn’t even want to admit I had a problem until I was eighteen, even though my struggles started a decade prior to that. The stigma is so difficult to get past. The questions you get asked are so intolerable and invasive at times. The progress forward can be so slow and painful. Still I try my best. And I realize this is just a show, but it’s a show that means a lot to me for obvious reasons.

There are those massive differences between real-life-me and TV character, Malcolm Bright.

Malcolm is beautiful. He’s wonderfully dressed and comes from money. He had enough money to attend one of the best Ivy League colleges and attain an amazing degree. He doesn’t have to worry about paying for meds or his therapist. He has meds that work for him. He has a fulfilling job that piques his interest and pays him enough to live off of. He has coworkers and a mother and a mentor who are there for him in a non-judgmental way. He is not the norm - but the exception. And it works for the show. 

I just hope that people know that having these issues is not thrilling or sexy. It doesn’t make me a more interesting person. And oftentimes, people who do suffer from these issues don’t have half the support or care that this character does. 

I hope that this show succeeds in getting the conversation about mental health started. I hope that the stigma around mental health begins to wane. And someday, I hope that mental healthcare will be available to everyone - no matter their social class or income.  

There’s a lot that this show can explore with Malcolm and his mental health journey and I hope that we get a season two so that it can.