Venting

There’s a truth that what I have left unsaid about the way individual attributes interact within and between humans is different from what you have left unsaid. That is, my viewpoint is different than yours BECAUSE of what we have kept to ourselves. This is basic and normal and mostly good as it provides for dynamic personalities. Lest we be robots.

However, at least for me, my thoughts on what is normal, or at least permissible needs to be a voiced. For a long time, I would always try to voice them. Not all the time, but more than the average person, I think. The problem was simple: no one wants to hear what I think about everything. It’s annoying as hell, even though I kept some small amount to myself.

So what happened? I voiced less. And less. Until the snowball of it all flipped a switch from extraversion to introversion, and I started caring ridiculous amounts about what other people thought of me. Why? Because the deepest part of me believed that I have the social freedom to voice what I think about life, and I wanted people to know what I thought. And I think a lot.

Furthermore, if continued unsaid, my musings can become increasingly inaccurate, and can demolish my persona with feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. All this is assuming that I am the cause of my own crippling snowball, which of course isn’t entirely true though it feels like it. This can lead to depression and cutting and loneliness in a crowd and distance in conversation and arrogance and addiction. This is basically death (and too often leads to it)…there is absolutely no life in these things.

So what, then? Is there a solution?

What I’ve discovered is, like most REAL solutions to the human condition: the answer is a process. Ugh. So trite, but so true. I really believe that the moment we start to live in the FREEDOM to say what we feel and think and observe (while being sensitive, but not too sensitive to people) is the moment we start to raygun that snowball to a dirty puddle of our false self and laugh as our true self gaily skips through it.