So instead of going to see a psychologist -which I can’t really do since I’m going to move countries twice in the next six months-, I’m writing down and wording things.
Listening to some comedian’s podcast, he said that:
“Ce qui est important, c’est de parler. Extérioriser les choses, de les écrire, de les sortir enfaites. Parler, ça prends le mot, ça te le met dans la bouche et mine de rien, tu le mastiques. Et ça lance le processus digestif de ton cerveau”
“What’s important is talking. Exteriorizing things, writing them down, putting them out there. Talking, it’s taking the word, putting it in your mouth and in the end, you’re chewing it. And it starts the digestive process of your brain.”
Sketchy translation, but you get the idea.
Not talking, not putting words on things that happened will leave you with that uneasy feelings in your guts. The kind you cannot name and cannot therefore really make go away.
I feel like I know what’s wrong with the resentment I’m growing. I know where it comes from, I know the stem, and I know the implications. I just find it hard to fix it.
The logic would be a very simple “embrace yourself and accept who you are” kind of motto. But this is really hard to do when all I can do is despise the attitude that I have. It feels strange rewarding and forgiving myself for a behaviour I wouldn’t forgive in others.
This is the famous “people don’t live up to my expectations” but neither do I really. The life of an eternal unsatisfied piece of human.
So despite knowing the source of the problem and the possibles ways to fix it, I find it useful to talk. But not to anyone, not at every time. This is where my compassion reaches its limit, and I find myself very dubitative and skeptic of some people’s methods. I don’t really cherish the fact of expanding your life to anyone. I guess I don’t believe in the over-sharing of one’s thoughts to multiple people. But already there, I’m judging.
The problem might be that I would never allow myself to do that. I don’t want to go to friends and put a weight on their shoulders with my problems. Because that’s how it feels. It feels like by making myself lighter, I’m just burdening others with what’s eating me inside.
But maybe I’m wrong? Maybe that’s why friends -and the good types of- are here in the first place. But still, I can’t imagine people ready to absorb so much pain from someone and still hang around. I mean, except if they’re your best friends or you’re pretty much committed to each other, I don’t see how that works.
I’d rather be the positive friend, who tries to cheer things up rather than bringing everything down with my inner nightmares.
That’s why I find it really hard to relate to people who do expand to others. I feel like since they’re making their burden lighter, they should at least get over things more easily than those who don’t.
But again, I’m judging and it’s perhaps just making me mad that I feel like I can’t do the same thing. The fact that I’m struggling so much is maybe why I have no compassion for those who have help and cannot heal faster.
I have the aim and unjustified pride of being a self-made person, and it ends up being a pit of apathy towards any struggle human who dare share their pain while I sit here in silence.
So talking is important, and I should perhaps accept that. I’m still not ready to burden anyone else, but should maybe stop resenting those who do. At least, they talk, and they don’t end up being apathetic bitches getting mad at every confession made to them.