Not talking

A friend just sent me to: Why shoddy writing is better than good writing by Claire Creffield. His intention was to hurry me up and encourage me to blog something, so here I go:

During an emotional crisis, not talking seems like the best idea. The more you talk about something, the more you are thinking about something and the more that something is going to get to you. So I try to avoid talking about things that make me cry.

The only problem with this technique however, is that it is normally something that I probably need to talk about.

So, where do you find the balance?

If you start talking about these things that you know in your gut you shouldn't talk about, then start getting over emotional, you look like a fool. This is only going to make things worse, because I can guarantee that more often then not, you are going to tell the person that you really shouldn't be telling and looking like a fool in front of the person you really want to think highly of you.

So, what do you do?

Well, as it stands, I have absolutely no idea. I think it's about trying really hard to not feel anything, then you can talk about it and it doesn't matter. But even better than that: it just doesn't matter.

I used to be in a constant state of it-just-doesn't-matter a while back. Some of you may remember way back when, when I first started this blog. I named it A Broken Nihilist on purpose. Dissect at point. Then something happened. In amongst the general rubbish that life throws at you, I caught something special.

Happy works like dominos.

Once you start getting happy, suddenly you look around you and everything is fabulous. You see rainbows on cloudy days and find change lying around. You believe that everything is going to be ok and that the world is actually alright. That things always work out how they are supposed to.

You start to believe things you once thought were ridiculous. You start to believe in love. You become that bubbling pot of rainbow juice.

The problem with this new happy-clappy-loved-up-flappy state is that you are vulnerable. The most vulnerable you have ever been. You get paranoid. You become terrified that something is going to shake the boat. Then before you know it you are right back at self-destruct. Right where you started - and you have no idea how to not be. You realise that within the nothingness of before, you were safe. You realise that pleasure brings pain. You wish more than anything that you can just go back, go back to feeling nothing. You try to convince yourself it's possible.

But your efforts are wasted. Inside you can still hear that happy-clappy voice telling you to keep going. Telling you the pleasure is worth the pain. Telling you things will work out and to be strong.

So the internal conflict leaves you bouncing between paralysis and mania. And you sit and wonder what you are supposed to do to make everything alright. You sit alone, like before, and try to focus. Because when you focus you are amazing. And you know you are going to make it, but you don't want to have to do it alone.

But I guess life is full of ups and downs and it's just part of growing up to learn how to deal with both. However the number of midlife crisis' and such leads me to believe that an awful lot of people never figure it out.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts on the matter.