vic020717

The phone is ringing. And ringing, and ringing….

Yet, I can’t manage to press accept on my screen. It’s nothing personal. Yet, I can be completely misunderstood. They always ask me why I don’t pick up when I’m sad.

I told them this:

Because you won’t understand. You’ll just let me speak, completely open up only in the end to suggest the magical solution. — “Hey, don’t be sad. It’s not worth it. Just get over it. Screw it”.

Wow! I had no idea! Although you think it was quite obvious. If I only knew how easy it was to do that, I’d be already in the party mode, ready to dance around the whole night. It’s that easy, right? Then I’ll get home, braid my hair and pretend I had a fabulous time. I’ll congratulate myself for pretending to have it all together, for not shedding a tear, for acting happy… when I’m not. I’ll say “well done” to myeslf, for filling myself up first with these mesmerizing lies; only because you have to be constantly happy the whole time. You can’t be seen vulnerable, miserable or completely lost. You’re not allowed to be broken — you can’t be seen powerless and broken.

The world isn’t up for it.

And because this world isn’t up for it, neither am I. I’ve never been good at pretending. I’ve never been good at lying– to myself or to others. I can’t act like I constantly have it together, because at this particular time I don’t. And you will demand it.

Not verbally, but I will be able to understand. I will be able to make out the confusion, the complete awkwardness from your part while I’m telling you what my problem is. The silence will get louder and louder, up until the moment in time when the magic solution is offered. And this is how I fucking know that you’re not listening to understand me, you’re listening just for the sake of replying.

There isn’t even the slightest attempt to get into my shoes, to see what it’s like from my side; yet the assumptions you make are so automatic, so easy. Like I should have known all along that this is the right thing to do, what I should do. It’s like a magic button — I will press it and suddenly everything will be alright and solved. The pain will go away, the knot I got in my stomach will be history and the weight I carry around will find its way back to hell where it belongs.

Let me tell you this. Next time you’re sad, I’ll try to do the same. I’ll try to offer the same –non-applicable- solutions you suggest for me. It will be so easy, just like the way you spit them out.

I may sound like the bad guy here, I may seem to be. But even when constantly asked for from others, truth and honesty are hard -very hard- to accept. I may be the bad guy here for shedding shadows on your pink rainbow of happiness; I may sound mean when I say that this magic shit you propose isn’t working. I might not make it sound so dreamy when I say that it takes time to get back to normal, and for the sadness to go away—sorry. My soul isn’t automatic, and won’t work like that. Ever.

I’m not expecting you to relate to my problem. But if you really want to ask me what is going on, you might want to ask yourself first if you really care. Then you have to ask if you have the intent and compassion to actually understand.

But you have to know that I don’t want advice, I don’t want to hear “just get over it dude”. I want the understanding, the actual listening. If you don’t have that, or can’t do it, it’s fine, thank you.

Just let me be for a while — I’ll manage on my own just fine.

Author: Victoria A. Dimou

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