Why do we do what we do?
Why do we bare our lives, even, or especially, the ugly parts? Why risk judgment, ridicule or loss?
As humans, we are separate sacks of blood, bone, tissue and gray matter. Our brains are a bowl of gray jello that house experiences, emotions, and concepts. The communication of ideas through text or words is clumsy and frustrating, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying. One meatbag surfing along this planet of dirt crust floating over a layer of magma won’t make it for long alone. We, in greater or lesser ways, need other meatbags to be safe, secure and to be able to play gin rummy or Scrabble and hold the steering wheel when putting on our mascara (not that I have ever done that). We are complete but are also able to be connected to other humans to become something new. It’s sorta like how the Autobots, or whatever the Hell their names were, snapped together to become Optimus Prime.
There’s a few reasons I open my messy insides.
I’m selfish. I need a place to just be me, in pain, in happiness, in craziness. It takes so much to pretend, to cover up and to keep up, that it is exhausting.
There is the next generation growing up. Let’s make it easier for them to not be ashamed or afraid of their disorders, body chemistry, body makeup or any other uniqueness they may own. People like my daughter need to know it’s OK and there is help and hope and that their differences aren’t a bad thing. What is unique is how we deal with them. Mental illness is still looked at as if it was contagious, or that if we willed it enough, if we just chose not to be who we are, it wouldn’t be a problem. If that means me standing on stage, internally bare for all the world to see, then so be it. If it will give the next generation hope and tools to get better without having to go through the shit this generation and the older ones went through, then I will stand here naked in my imperfections and sickness.
I’m lonely for others who live this experience or understand living with it, craving connection. To surmount and thrive, we need each other to some extent. I want to be in a community of people supporting each other, not a bunch of single cells being tossed about on an ocean of aloofness. Those of us in living with disorders, trying to recover, spend so much time “passing” as typical or average, we can’t let anyone know we have “the crazy”, that we isolate and sometimes don’t know how to meet others.
So why do you do this communication thing? Why do you read, or comment, write or listen, here or elsewhere? What keeps you open, whether blogging, or reaching out on social networks, or just one on one?
From one meatbag to another: It will be worth it, I promise.