8/27/2019
Not important

I have nobody else to talk to about what I feel.

All right, there's my girlfriend. I can talk to her about what I feel. But I care about her so much that I - this makes sense, right? - that I want to protect her from whatever I'm feeling, because it makes no sense, and it's not important, and it's not worth making a big deal out of, or so they all say. This tangle I often find myself in, I don't want her to be tangled in it, too, because when she's stuck, who else will come to our aid?

This is why it's hard for me to believe anyone else who says they'll talk to me if they need to talk. It also just doesn't make any sense. Setting aside my nebulous worldview of people saying things so they look good to others and, therefore, feel better about themselves - think of the logistics. You're not always ready to become a listening ear or a crying shoulder (again, that doesn't make sense). You might be busy with something, or you might be carrying a burden of your own. What do you do with that? Be a martyr and help someone, when nobody is really willing to help yourself?

I've done that a few times, both sides. There are rare instances when I'm the guy listening to someone's pain. And perhaps I'm helping by just listening - or seeing, as is the case with chat windows these days - but, I don't know, sometimes you just want to be able to say something that would turn things around, even if partially, and you can't, because the worries are big, and your own worries are coming in, and suddenly you feel a bit more hopeless yourself.

Most of the time, though, I'm the one typing furiously on my phone to someone I consider a closer friend, perhaps closer acquaintance, than most, and I will feel like I'm interrupting their lives with my pain. My worries, you know, make no sense, and are not important, and are not worth making a big deal out of. I believe so myself, because everybody has said that my entire life.

Hell, even writing all that down feels like me disrupting you otherwise normal, contented dinner hour with my diatribes. So, most of the time - perhaps all of the time, I should - I keep it all in.

It's been a bad year. I feel hopeless and without any control over anything that's happening, that will happen, that I think will happen.

And your responses...

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