I’m not sure why people mistake honesty, as if to mean that something is wrong or that when someone speaks from the heart, people assume something is ripping them apart.
No.
Sometimes, you need to say what’s on your mind.
You need to vent.
You need to let off steam, and yes, the idea of emotional dumping is not the best look, and neither is this an advised idea to speak so openly to random or everyday people.
I would never call this optimal. Neither is sharing your details with anyone and everyone. To be clear, speaking openly can often lead to an external judgment or problems with assumptions at a later date.
I agree that there needs to be discretion when it comes to this.
Of course, we need to be careful.
I have opened up before. I have discussed my past and yes, this has led towards judgment and rejection or biased opinions. I have opened up and painted myself in the corner. I have lost business opportunities, friends, and I have hurt relationship abilities because i shared too much or assumed that I would be accepted or that my thoughts or feelings would never be held against me.
I think about the question, “What’s wrong?”
I don’t like the word, “wrong,” per se. I don’t think opening up or stating an opinion means that something is “wrong” as much as there is a difference of opinion or a need for a change.
I try to remember this.
I have to remember this, especially while I open myself up to this thing we call “interpretation.”
But is this right or fair?
Is it right or fair that we have to hide ourselves or our feelings?
Is there no place sacred?
Is there no place where we can vent or spew or shout and scream and not be afraid of the consequences? At the same time, is there no place where we can sit and enjoy the silence?
Is there no way to sit without the need for words to interrupt the scene?
I think that as much as we need to scream, we also need a place to review and to sit quietly.
We all need a place where this is free and easy, or better yet, we need a place where this is acceptable. Moreover, a place where our venting becomes unobjectionable.
I say this because I have been addressed by people with their assumptions or their opinions.
I have been asked the question, “What’s wrong?”
I’d ask them why?
“Well, I read something you wrote, and it was sad.”
Okay, does that mean something is wrong?
Maybe I’m opening up.
Maybe I’m letting something go or trying to find a way to bleed out the toxic waste which we pick up around the everyday way of standard living.
See?
I am not like others who chose to live silently with their demons and allow them to rot within.
I can’t do that . . .
I don’t want to let my thoughts overwhelm me and rather than sit in silence, I would rather come here and let this go—or cut my ties with unwanted thoughts, and vent them or hit the “oh shit,” button and let my panic mode go off so it doesn’t hit me later.
At the same time, I come here to breathe.
I come here to state my case or express myself, in good ways or bad, happy, sad, confused or otherwise.
This is my spot.
I find this to be not only cathartic, but lifesaving and motivating.
I feel bad for those who struggle with their thoughts or sit in silence or never dare to state their truths or have a place where they can speak openly enough to rid themselves from the emotional viruses which infect us all, and rot away at our core, from the inside out.
I feel . . .
I think . . .
I believe . . .
I hope . . .
I dream . . .
I aspire . . .
I fear . . .
I worry . . .
And yes—
I stress, and I overthink.
I use this platform as my relief valve.
I can say anything here.
I can talk about my fears. I can speak openly about my fears of inadequacy and my concerns about not being “enough” or that perhaps my imposter-like fears are true, that someone is going to expose me, or pull my cover, and then I will face the ridicule or the laughter, like the times when I was picked on as a child or bullied and humiliated.
This is also a great way to hear how irrational my fears can be.
You know?
I see no reason why I should hide from this. I see no reason to hide or to deny the traumas or the bonds that keep me linked, chained, or shackled to unwanted ideas, thoughts, feelings, and emotions.
Some people have told me that speaking this way might be a hint of weakness.
Weak?
Weak, did you say?
No. Weak is hiding.
Weak is denying your truths and not facing them.
Weak is allowing the bullies to get the better of us. In fact, of all the bullies I have encountered in my life, no bully is worse than the bully within.
I have two sides, like the yin and the yang.
I am a mixture of thoughts and ideas, feelings and emotions.
I’m like anyone else here in this crazy world.
At the same time, I am not like anyone else.
No one else in the world has my exact point of view or my worries, my challenges, my versions of good or bad, and no one knows what color looks like through my eyes.
No one knows what peace feels like to me, or anguish, despair, harmony, or any of the other feelings, which come to us throughout the day.
I admit that my prose is not for everyone.
At the same time, my prose is not written for anyone, except for us. Even at this level, I understand that we all have our own scales.
We all have our own views and versions of truth or opinions.
I understand this.
And no, not everyone understands.
Actually, I often believe that no one understands me at all.
However, out of all compliments, I do not think there is any compliment as valuable as when someone tells you, “Yeah, you get me!”
And yes, some people in this world do get me.
Like you. I wonder if you know how grateful I am for you.
(Do you?)
I think about the love we get from a child. I think about the way a child may speak and how we assume that age makes us so different.
But no.
I am only a child. And yes, I will be approaching my 52nd year and this will mark 52 trips around the sun. And sure, I have grown. I have learned and seen great things.
I’m not a kid.
But I am deep down.
I have had my trips.
No. Wait.
Let me be better.
I have seen incredible things, like the way a child looks up at the moon and hopes this is some kind of sign, as if a visitor is watching with a smile, or as if this means “someone out there” loves me beyond compare and that despite flaws or imperfections, to the visitor, something about me is beautiful, beyond compare.
I want to be beautiful too.
I want to know what’s good about me, which is not to say that something is wrong or that something is so terribly wrong with me that I don’t think anything is good about me.
No.
I want to know what’s good about me.
I want to reassign the way I think or feel and come to an understanding that in all the days of my life, yes, I mean something to someone.
And no, my mistakes cannot, or will not, and do not overshadow my brightest qualities.
I think about my definition of weakness or at least, this would be my connotation of the word. And yes, I despise the word. I despise my association with worry or fear and how this can become so crippling that I forget to dare or refuse to speak or stand up for myself.
With all of my so-called faults or flaws, at least I am honest about them. At least I can state, yes, that was me. I did that, in either regard for good or bad, right or wrong.
Weakness is not facing fear.
Weakness is not saying what’s in your heart, or weakness is allowing the worst to consume you, like a viral plague in the mind. Yes, weakness is not standing up for yourself or to yourself, and at the weakest points in my life, I swear that my weakest is when I refused to land my feet on the floor or get out of bed, and no matter what, however weak or scared, hurt, or depressed—weakness is not answering the call to meet the day.
I might be flawed. And I might be weak.
I might not be the best in this world and no, I am certainly not the worst in this place either.
But whatever I am, at least I choose to come here and speak my mind, even if this is put down or insulted, or worse, even if this shows me in the weakest shade of pale, at least I’m not afraid to speak my mind (while I’m here) and at least I did whatever I could to create a platform, so that I can say I love you, no matter what, and yeah—I might be crazy, and I might be insane—but so what?
Who isn’t crazy these days?
Either way, I see nothing wrong with venting.
In fact, I say this is a necessary thing.
You have to find someplace where you can unload, and let this shit go!
It’s okay to not be okay.
I love that saying.
This doesn’t mean something is wrong.
No, this just means that we have to call for an adjustment within, and no matter how hard we get hit, and no matter how tired we may be, or regardless of what the times may bring, we have to land our feet on the ground and meet the day.
I might not always be at my best
and neither are you or anyone else.
But at least I dare to speak my truth and I dare to expose the bullshit, and more than anything, despite my aches or pains, I show up.
I may not have much
But I have heart.
You can teach skills.
You can learn a new craft or find a new trade.
But you can learn or find a new heart.
And this is my heart . . . beating
(for you).
The Written Addiction 