That’s what the WikiHow recommends. Straight forward. Open your mouth and off you go. Go on. You’ve no problem flappin’ your gums about nonsense or somebody else’s business, so go on. Speak!!
I think that yous might be like me and you know that it’s not like that. You also know that there’s only one thing that makes what drove you there so much harder to bear, but that one thing is the easiest thing to do. Nothing. Say nothing. Deal with things in your own way and just get on. So that’s what we do, don’t we? Folks like us. We just get on with things. Crack on and shut the fuck up.
Indirect shut-downs come at us from many, and unexpected, directions every time we might dare to try just a little tiny bit. They don’t mean much to the ones that deal them, but mean something quite significant to us. Though, if that’s what we’re given in these particular moments, then that’s what we’ll take, thank you very much, and we’ll keep them too. Aware that this is very likely to become another thing to shut the fuck up about later, but I know I definitely hold on to mine anyway. Always do. Pop ‘em in my box of shut-the-fuck-upness that I keep in the kitchen draw with all the other bits and bobs of shite that I’m not really sure I need, but keep anyway, just in case.
To whom, exactly, do they propose we talk, anyway? Surely that negates all of this, an ear in which to talk. The ability to talk. We’re not talkers, man, we’re thinkers. We’re big, fat, festering, overthinkers. Consuming and regurgitating that same piece of information over and over a thousand times til the toxic mess dripping from our lips burns a pathway down the ear canals of all that receive it, wrenching their bodies in disgust at the mere notion of us.
We wrench at the mere notion of us. We know what we are. We know that there’s another you out there that knows far worse than we do. We know that to complain this way is to undermine that you out there. We know you. We know better so we shut the fuck up and we crack on.
We’re here for you now. For you, we will talk. We’ll soothe and we’ll listen in all the best ways that we can for as long as we can. We’ll save you if we can. We can if we try. If we fail we try again. Keeping on trying. We’re sorry for what we haven’t done. We’re here. We’re trying to be here. For you. Tell me, I’ll listen. Tell me. Just talk. To me, you can talk because I know you. I feel you. Your existence courses through my veins and pulsates my heart. You rush to my head and make me dizzy. I want to fall over, but I stay up for you for as long as I can and as firm and as strong as my pathetically weak bones can sustain. I’m here. I am strength. I will carry you. I will. I will. I’ll try my hardest for as long as I can bear. I swear!!!!!!!!!!!
When I break, just move on. Do that for me, at least, will you. Don’t linger. Don’t look at me. Just move on and leave me here. I’ll despair for a little bit before I mush all the pieces back together in some new configuration that’s awkward to look at, but me all the same, and off I’ll pop. Me, the amalgamation of broken hope-filled mush with a continually reforming zest for life and adventure. No need to look at me like that, the rest of you, either. You might as well turn your back like the others because it actually is easier for all of us that way, no matter what I might try to make you think via the finely tuned and nuanced subtext of what I speak, that, every now and then, someone with an ear for rocks up and takes a listen to before I push them right back where they came from with feigned aloofness.
Just let me be. Let me crack on because I’ll never really talk to you. I don’t really want to. I’d rather do anything other than. The mush can’t be unmushed now. Respite comes at the end of each cycle and that will do. Ceremonial reshaping can be fun and it’s all mine and that will do. Bear witness if you like, that’s grand, but do so quietly. This is mine and that’s fine. We make it to the end each time and we’re fine, and that’s that. The end.