"The Good That Won't Come Out" is about mental illness - specifically depression and anxiety, especially among high-functioning individuals. It's a lament about how that, even if you want to do something about it, there's this fear that keeps you from seeking help. Even though you know it's keeping you from enjoying your life, keeping you from doing the things you love, preventing you from being there for the people you love, and stopping you from accomplishing your dreams. All the good that won't come out of you. Let's dissect it a little bit.
Oh, you're almost home
I've been waiting for you to come in
Dancing around in your old suits, going crazy in your room again
I think I'll go out and embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in the street
You say I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me
Maybe you're right...
In the first verse, Jenny has been invited to meet up with friends and they get into a discussion about climate change. And she's struck by the futility because, while they're all claiming how concerned they are about it, they're not doing a damn thing to make it better. She wants to do better, she wants to be a better person, but she finds herself doing the same thing. A lot of outrage, not a lot of action. She's just watching things crumble around her but she can't bring herself to do something about it. Which leads us to our second verse.
She knows there is something wrong with her. Otherwise, she wouldn't be so miserable....but she won't go to a psychologist/psychiatrist. Because then she'd have to face the things that are causing her to be so miserable, including the things that are her fault. There's nothing more infuriating/disappointing than knowing the biggest obstacle holding you back is your own insecurities and fears. Besides that, in order to get better, she'd have to allow herself to become vulnerable to someone, even if it's just a medical professional. And that's scary for a lot of people. Letting someone in that far, allowing them to see those ugly bits, means they have all the ammunition they need to hurt you. Really hurt you. And you just have to trust that they won't. Very few people have ever experienced that level of trust. People think they have, but they haven't. There are people who go to therapy every week and they talk, but they don't really say anything. Then they stop going because it's not working. How could it? They didn't even try.
The bridge is my favorite part, though. She's in a conversation with someone - the person she's singing to - perhaps a lover, perhaps a friend. The talking is therapeutic for her and she's getting close to a few breakthroughs. She's allowing herself to be vulnerable. And that's what she wanted ("I've been waiting for you to come in"). But then she goes back to her same old self-destructive habits and pushes the person away. The killing blow, though, is when the person says that she's choosing to be sad, in the face of all the good things in her life. And a final, reluctant admission - maybe there's an uncomfortable truth to that. In the last verse, she starts thinking of her other friends, friends that never recovered from their depression, some of whom committed suicide ("all our friends who lost the war"), and she's at a crossroads. Let this person - who cares about her enough to try and break down her walls - walk away. And, thus, truly be lost. Or admit she needs help and actually follow through this time.
"You say I choose sadness, that it never once has chosen me...." That line has stuck with me for the past decade and a half. This can mean many things - choosing to stay in situations we know make us unhappy, choosing to think badly of ourselves, choosing to not stand up for our own needs and boundaries. It seems inevitable - because we've convinced ourselves this is just who we are - but it doesn't have to be. Thoughts are a choice, feelings are a choice. It may not seem like it in the moment, but they are. And it takes a long time and a lot of hard work to transform them into something more positive, something akin to happiness, but it's worth it. You just have to get over the fear and try. It may take a couple of tries, to be honest. I feel like it's Millennial Culture to compare our misery - my childhood was sadder than yours, I'm more broke than you, I've sacrificed more, et cetera. And then we wonder why our generation's drug use, depression, and suicide rates have sky-rocketed. I'm not saying life isn't hard - it is. But we don't have to see it that way. And we certainly don't have to accept misery as our permanent reality. Just let someone in.
"The Good That Won't Come Out" Video
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