Yup, I had a thought. It was a once in a lifetime thing that happened today. How cool for me.
In brief, I was thinking about how even when I’m with people who have similar interests as my own, I still feel like I’m not fully understood. Or maybe it is that there is more there to delve into, but I’m the only one who really wants to get to the root cause? Or maybe it’s that they already know and don’t want to waste time discussing what they already know? Or maybe it’s that I’m willing to entertain all possibilities and perspectives, and they only like certain ones for whatever reason?
It’s a perplexing situation because I’m literally having to email someone in Australia because no one I know even wants to entertain my ideas… Or even listen to them.
It’s isolating when it feels like there is no one who even gets what you’re talking about… Especially when you’re talking about what they’re all interested in discussing.
If there’s a freaking genie around, my wish in this moment would be to have even one person appear who genuinely cares about what I have to truly say.
Alright! Let’s hope I have another thought again… Fingers crossed for that sitch.
Where do you go for help when you’re yourself when you’ve looked everywhere for help?
How do you find anyone on Earth to help you if you’ve asked everyone you know?
How do people make it through life lmao because wtf why did I raise myself with no guidance? I mean… Kudos me you did better than you realized you did. But you probably should’ve been placed up for adoption, and you know that lolz.
And if you bring this up to anyone who’s aware of your immediate family, they wouldn’t believe you because abusers don’t abuse in public and they don’t abuse everyone.
It’s blunt, and it’s not all terrible. But damn just want a smidgen of a break over here haha.
I’m just so hurt by the fact I am treated so poorly by professionals. Especially the ones I’m paying. I cannot make it stop, and I do not know how to unless I am mute. I already was situationally mute for quite some time during my youngest years. It didn’t work. I already caused scenes. It didn’t work.
But to have a literal expert that you’re paying tell you to “memorize the answers” or “do what everyone else is doing and find friends to study with” in order to improve your grade is so humilating. I feel like I don’t have a choice at this point other than to continue doing whatever it even is that I am doing to be perceived like I am so incredibly unintelligent.
It goes back to the same question.
Why do you feel the need to treat me so poorly?
Like I’m actually struggling to understand how I am “being a know it all” while simultaneously having “answers that have nothing to do with the questions”.
Do people just not think I’m capable of feeling emotions?
Because I am so emotional it is disruptive to my daily life.
So the disconnect just fucking hurts.
Think before you respond to someone coming to you for help.
Oh, or just think about how you’d talk to a disabled child in the same situation.
Sarah, I lied. This post is not for you. The next one will be (#lolZZZ).
I just have always loved this poem since I read it in high school.
I resonate with the title more than the poem because I think the title itself is genius, especially when followed by words explaining its meaning… **chef’s kiss**; it is a literary masterpiece… And I never told anyone this when I was in high school. I never added to the Emily Dickinson Conversation when we reviewed some of her most famous works. I never said or did anything other than expound upon what Google said her works meant… More truthfully, what Spark Notes and Cliff Notes said her works meant.
And that is because I was telling all the truth but telling it slant.
And it, Tell all the truth but tell it slant, received no credit, or rather poor Emily received no credit for her writing and her ability to feel so deeply, until after she died. And my high school self and this wretched account are dead, so this post, if even viewed by anyone at all, will receive no credit until then. Or I suppose now depending on when this is published, too.
Poor and clearly pompous me, for feeling like I am on the same level of writing and feeling as Emily Dickinson, and even personifying her feelings to her corpse. Poor and clearly pompous me, for even thinking a dead body would be feeling betrayed or disappointed or hurt or anything at all by this entire ordeal of her fame and love only after her, what seems as though, never-ending suffering.
What a shame that those who are trying their absolute hardest to communicate their desire for human connection and understanding and love do not receive any of it until they’re dead.
And that previous sentence, the one literally before this one presently being read, is me following Emily’s advice: that is me telling all the truth but telling it slant.
The Truth, when not told slant, is that I feel like the insurmountable vexation that progresses from having a mind like hers… one that makes her able to think and write this profoundly… is oddly enough the juxtaposition of the crux of progressive deterioration of that very same mind. I feel like it is oddly enough the juxtaposition of the crux of her, as aren’t the body and mind one and the same? Isn’t that what makes a person a person, as consciousness is too perplexing for even the world’s most intelligent psychologists and neuroscientists to “figure out” and explain?
Yet consciousness makes us human. It makes us different than the rest of living “things”. And isn’t that a good thing?
We are not animals but we are at top of the animal kingdom.
We are not unintelligent but we are destroying the one planet that keeps us all alive.
Make it make sense? Make the but make sense. Because I just simply cannot.
And that is what I find to be so profound about this entire poem. It’s the but in the title. That’s it… when I’m not telling it slant.
The Truth is I do not fucking understand the point of life.
I do not fucking understand the point of life.
I do not get it.
And no one can explain it to me.
That is the all the truth when I do not tell it slant.
However, if you do not tell it slant, that truth, or rather The Truth, is “too much” truth. It is misinterpreted as feeling emotions I do not feel. It is misinterpreted as me lying when I say those misinterpreted feelings are not felt. It is a whole bunch of an intertwined mess between me, “professionals”, and what is.
Therefore, I will just say what I said at the beginning of this entry:
I just have always loved this poem since I read it in high school.
Considering It Pure Joy... 