But I can't.
Life isn't tidy and neat and its chaos shines out of my expressions and my demeanor and my words the way the sun shines in July.
If you've been reading here for the past month (or the past several years), you've seen it. It's not pretty. It's not always pleasant. It can make people uncomfortable.
Someone from my 'real life,' who began reading my blog recently, remarked about how open I am here. And I told her that's true... to an extent. There are, of course, things I will never discuss here... or I don't think I will, anyway. I guess I don't know yet just how brave or open I'll be willing to be down the road.
And I'm sure there are people who think I'm too open; that I share too much; that I should hold some things back. And maybe they're right. I don't know.
But here's what I do know, right here, right now...
When I open myself up -- my heart and my head -- and I tell you things about my life and its chaos and how I deal with it all, it makes me feel a little less crazy... a little less chaotic. Very often, you come back to me, by way of comments or emails, and you let me know that something I've said has affected you; it's resonated with you; it's made you feel not-so-alone; it's given you a new perspective; it's made you want to reach out and open up to me...
And that?
Makes me feel good. It makes me feel validated. It makes me feel visible and necessary.
And I think we all need that.
Today, a friend of mine posted on Facebook about a friend hers -- a friend who committed suicide on her 41st birthday. I didn't know this woman, though it turns out we have a few mutual friends. But hearing about suicide naturally makes us wonder why... so I looked at her Facebook page and through her photos, wondering why; wondering what about her life might have been so terrible that she felt the need to end it on the day commemorating its beginning.
When you look at my Facebook page and my photos, I think you probably get a fair picture of my life. As you know from reading here, I'm pretty much an open book. Pretty much. I'm sure that's not the case with everyone... maybe even with most people... and probably not with this woman...
Because her life appeared to be perfect.
Let's change the emphasis there, shall we?
Her life appeared to be perfect.
She was stunningly beautiful. She had a handsome husband and a beautiful home. She traveled often, to spectacular places, and, indeed, spent her birthday on a boat in the Virgin Islands. It was clear that she possessed a spirit of adventure. She had many friends, who seemed to simply adore her, and beautiful nephews, who looked ridiculously happy to be photographed with her. Her posts were creative, her words captivating, and she had a smile that lit up whatever space she was in.
Her life appeared to be perfect.
It was not, of course.
No one's life is perfect.
And I wondered if, in her 'real life,' she wore her heart on her sleeve; if the people who loved her knew that her soul was troubled. I wondered if she felt it necessary to tuck her feelings inside, out of sight, and go on as if Life was tidy and neat. I wondered if she was ever able to open up, to share too much, and to lay herself out and just say, "This is me -- in pain, fucked up, sad, weary, and broken open."
I can't begin to imagine the pain she must have felt. My heart breaks for her and for her family. I know how fortunate I am to have never felt pain to that degree. I know how fortunate I am to have always, always believed that no matter how messy Life gets, it will get better.
And I am incredibly fortunate to be able to open up, to share too much, and to lay myself out and just say, "This is me -- in pain, fucked up, sad, weary, and broken open."
It's not pretty. It's not pleasant. And it sometimes makes people uncomfortable.
But it's so necessary.
And I wish it for everyone.
6 comments:
I agree Diane. I did the same thing this morning with that same thought. Beautiful..... but obviously something was deeply wrong. So very sad, especially when at least one other obituary this morning was of someone who fought a courageous battle against lung cancer for 4 1/2 of her short 36 years........
I so agree. I often think I am way too open on Facebook and on my blog (when I used to blog), but it beats the alternative. It is our secrets that make us sick. Of course, the woman in question may also have some mental illness, but even that is exacerbated by secrets. I find if you are open, you find other people who are open and loving. And that makes life bearable on the worst days and downright joyful on the best. I'm glad I'm getting to know you.
I have a face like a neon sign. I'll never be good at poker, because you'd know the minute I had a good hand. (Or what I thought was a good hand, I can never remember the rules long enough to seriously play. Saddens me to hear about this beautiful person who was so loved and couldn't reach out. Makes me grateful I'm willing to be broken and messed up and to holler out loud when I need help. I think people reach out to you because you put brokenness into such beautiful words, in lovely rhythm. Your chaos and seemingly gyroscopic righting of yourself gives others hope that they can do it too. Thank you.
Talking helps focus and consider life's vagaries, the good, the bad, the slings and arrows. Do we say too much? Sometimes but so what? It's cheap therapy and sharing sometimes lets someone else know that someone thinks like them. And both of you are better for it.
That is very sad, sometimes people give the appearance that their lives are perfect when they are not. It is good to open up, you don't have to reveal all on this blog but what you share gives us a small inkling of how you are feeling. Maybe better to share with a good close friend, that deep hurt and pain. Gosh, I have said far too much in my comments and in my poems but somehow it helps ease the loneliness.
I think sharing always helps.
Take care dear Diane.
xoxoxo ♡
Really very interesting post.I do appreciate you for your work.
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