I often feel like I have more in common with a screaming petulant child, or a person walking down the street yelling about satan and his connection to potatoes, than I do to other people. That resonates with me – I get it. I, like the bellowing child, have so many things that I don’t want to do but am forced to do, that I could scream too!
“HOW could I possibly have run out of groceries AGAIN?”
“What do you MEAN I have to brush and floss my teeth a SECOND time today?”
“A power bill, in THIS economy? Fuck this!”
The only thing that’s stopping me from also screaming and shitting my pants is my constant constipation and the fact I’ll have to do the laundry.
I think we look at children with the understanding that they haven’t learnt how to regulate their emotions yet. They don’t know this feeling, what it means for them deep down and how to communicate what they actually want. I don’t think that we as adults know how to do that for the most part either.
Show me an emotionally functioning adult and I’ll show you where they scream and yell in private. I’ll show you a pillow so beaten down and sprayed with secrets, it’s a wonder that at night they don’t hear them all creeping out like the sounds of the ocean from a shell to your ear.
It makes more sense to me to be constantly vocal about how we feel than to have to endure any more empty pleasantries. Do I think it should be at the level where people run around screaming their innermost secrets and deepest insecurities in the street, or at the checkout? No, of course not, but I empathise and I crave that raw honesty.
The problem is that I’m envious of two groups of people who either haven’t learnt, or have lost the ability to express themselves healthily. What does it mean for me that I want what they have? I’ve done an incredible amount of work to figure out how I feel, where it stems from and what to do when it’s not ideal for the situation I’m in. I’ve put in the time and the work and I know how to express myself correctly. But still, for some reason watching it be done incorrectly somehow feels more right. I feel both a kinship and catharsis when somebody just screams out what’s on their mind, how they’re feeling, or what they want.
“I saw it! The scales peeping out behind Morrison’s people mask!”
Yeah, fucking probably!
“I don’t wanna get in the pram!”
Why should you!? Stick it to the MAN!
I learnt to stop saying “good” when people asked me how I am. It wasn’t until I knew you didn’t have to that it stopped ripping at something inside me. If you were to watch back and slow down the tape whenever I said “I’m good!” you could pinpoint the exact moment I decided to lie, the physical transition into a voice two octaves above the truth, followed by the polite strained smile as I wait for you to mimic the same.
It’s not like I’m not falling apart or barely keeping it together, but to say that I’m good is a lie for the sake of a conversation I actually don’t or won’t ever care about again. I’ve learnt to say “I’m well, thanks”. It feels better. I am well. I’m not good, or great, or have no complaints. But physically I am not on fire or bleeding out, I was able to put on pants and I made it out of the house in one piece.
In saying that, I still don’t like being asked how I am. It makes me reflect on every single event and thought swirling around inside of me, only to be forced to come to an amiable conclusion in 0.5 seconds that I’m rarely confident about. I say “I’m well” out of politeness, because you too, were only asking to be polite.
I want to normalise telling people you feel like you want to die. You would of course reassure them you’re safe, that you have valium, Netflix and a date with the couch for the rest of the day. I just want to normalise cancelling plans because you know your vibe is going to ruin the picnic.
Cancelling plans claiming illness or injury instead of my mental health has, and continues to, build on this ever mounting guilt inside of me. I don’t want to be untruthful – you might even understand – but it’s this self perceived weakness that I couldn’t just “snap out of it” or whack on a smile for one night that chews away at me.
I worry about the possibility of giving out under the weight of trying to be proper, simply for the comfort of others. That I’ll end up in a place where this half truth, among all the desperate real truths is what ends up making me burst at the seams. What if I become the one shouting at fellow bus passengers that what I’m saying “makes perfect sense!” that I crack under the burden of these small thoughts unspoken?
I don’t think that saying how you feel and being brutally honest in all forms, all the time will make anybodies life run any smoother. We don’t need to knowing the internal goings on of every person we know, every single second of the day. Screaming my truth in a public space isn’t right, or at least socially acceptable. But, fuck it looks good.