Meatbags

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?

 Earth From Space By NASA /GSFC/Reto Stöckli, Nazmi El Saleous, and Marit Jentoft-Nilsen [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Earth From Space By NASA /GSFC/Reto Stöckli, Nazmi El Saleous, and Marit Jentoft-Nilsen [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
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.

Wooden Boat In A Stormy Sea User George Hodan at PubliceDomainPictire.Net | CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) Public Domain Dedication
Wooden Boat In A Stormy Sea User George Hodan at PublicDomainPictures.Net | CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0)
Public Domain Dedication

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.

 

 

Chrissy_lime1

 

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments

  1. I love this. I’ve learned so much in the time it took me to read it. I’m a control freak and I try to manage everything, even relationships. I have to release control, remove expectations, reach out, and accept other meatbags like i want to be accepted. I write and connect with other meatbags because I am trying to overcome the tendency to isolate and put on airs for fear of coloring other’s perception of me. I’m so done with that. It’s just time to live. Thanks for this.

    Like

    1. I love you Angel. Of all the meatbags, you are in my top ten favorites. There hasn’t been a time thzt you have communicated something, whether funny or serious, that I haven’t been changed for the better in some way. Much love to you

      Like

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