I’m a person who values authenticity. I thrive on the truth. I want to hear and read something real. I’m not interested in glossy magazines and pinterest worthy final products. I want to wade knee deep in the muck of it. That is where the interesting shit lives.
The problem is, most other people don’t.
I notice that, a lot of the time, when I speak my truth, people don’t say a whole lot back. I can kill a conversation, with even some of my best friends, much more easily than I can keep them going. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put myself out there and all I’ve gotten was crickets. More times than I can bear.
I’m just so done with the pleasantries, you know? What the fuck is the point? Life is so short. And we’re alone for so much of it. Why waste our time talking about shit we’re not really interested in? Why dance around a topic neither of us cares about?
Maybe, the thing is, that other people do care.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve attempted a real, genuine conversation about parenting, or marriage, or how much I fucking suck at keeping my house clean and got NOTHING in return. Just silence. The awkward shuffle of feet. The murmured acknowledgement that the call hasn’t been dropped. Nothing of real substance.
This happens all the time. With people I consider good friends. Really good friends.
Am I really the only one who wants to talk about these things? Do I bring them up too clumsily? Too forcefully? Is my voice dripping with despair?
The conclusion that I’ve come to is that I’m too negative. I linger too long in the dark and depressing. I’m not grateful enough. I complain too much. People don’t want to be around a negative nelly. People don’t want to talk, well, to me.
One of the reasons I wanted to go back to therapy is I wanted a place where I could talk about the negative stuff without threatening my friendships. I’ve lost so many friends talking about how hard shit is. People don’t want to hear about that stuff all the time. I wanted to pay someone to listen to it–to the hard and the upsetting and the exhausting and the brutal. I wanted, for once, not to be met with crickets.
I can’t afford $140 an hour right now. I’m going to look into sliding scale places and hopefully I’ll find someone, because right now I really need a sounding board that isn’t my husband and isn’t my friends.
Otherwise, I might not have either at the end of all this.