"Kafka (or was it Rilke) said that poetry was the axe that breaks the frozen river of the soul, but we walk on the ice as we go through our day, thin ice more often than not, and no one no one no one wants to see the rushing icy river of your soul when you’re standing in line at the bank.
How are you? Fine, and you? It’s not that we don’t care, it’s that we’re terrified that someone will actually break down and tell us. Everyone I know is in some kind of pain. Everyone. How do you like them apples? And so, another reason to lie, because we’ve all agreed not to tell the truth to each other, not about that. Someone put their hand in my heart and they didn’t take it back out. If I died tonight, no one would notice for weeks. My father is a sadist and I am my father’s son. I learned it well. Do I have the stomach for it? Do you really want to know?"
—
Richard Siken
Forgive the flowery quote, but it felt apt. And forgive the diversion, but this thread is in some heavy territory right now, and someone might need to hear it. Most people may not care, but someone will. Maybe you're suicidal because you don't have anyone in your life who gives a shit about you, so maybe you end up in a mental hospital and happen to get that one clinician who sees you and your struggles and gives you all the validation and empathy you've never gotten, and maybe it's just their job, but maybe that's enough to keep you going. To convince you to keep trying to find other people who give a shit, to keep improving your attitude and your life, little by little. It's never hopeless, Kiwibros. Giving up is the only way to ensure things never get better.
