Let it Out- We're All Broken

There's a good line in Crocodile Dundee where the Linda Kozlowski character explains to Paul Hogan that in America, people see 'Shrinks', not for any particular reason, but basically because they want to discuss their problems.

Paul Hogan explains that back in Walkabout Creek, if you've got a problem, you tell Wally. Wally then tells everyone else.

A problem shared is a problem halved, they say.

It's a flippant point, but of course, it's true. The scriptwriters had hit on a fairly good social point here.

I suppose the catalyst for this post is an excellent post I read recently, where a blogger really did open up their heart and tell their readers everything. It was a very moving post, and the only reason I'm not putting a bright Neon 'It's here' link for you, is because I think it was written to be read by her regular readers, not comparative strangers.

We are starting to see this a lot now, and it seems to be a good thing. I've posted things I never thought I would at one time, and in fact, the results have been surprising.
We bottle things up, fearing to tell people, not realising that telling people in fact brings us closer together, because we understand eachother better and realise we aren't alone.

It always seems to have been a facet of human existence that we have things we NEED to talk about, but don't WANT to talk about. We don't believe that talking about them will solve anything as such, except it will get it off our chests. We want to be validated, to be reassured, in a sense, to feel we don't carry it alone.

Americans don't really go and see a shrink because the shrink can help them. What s/he is doing, is listening. He is the modern equivalent of a priest hearing confession. And the real attraction with confession, is letting it out. Talking to someone. It's hearing that reassurance that you walk out being validated again, at peace with the universe.
I know that, because I used to use priests for exactly that. When I went for confession, more often than not, they became philosophical chats. I didn't just confess my sins, I would discuss my fears and anxieties too. I'd discuss how I saw Good and Evil and how they impacted on my day to day existence.

The sense that you can't lie, or keep anything back from a priest, is so strongly ingrained in me, that visiting a priest is very significant to me. Furthermore, he cannot break your confidence.

And on more than one occassion I've visited a priest not because I wanted to confess, but because I was distressed myself. In one instance, it was effectively me using confession to deal with what was stopping me sleeping properly. What was it? Well, if you must know, I'd spent several months talking to and associating with someone who turned out to have abducted children. And once I found that out, I started having problems sleeping. Because I'd chatted to him as if he was a normal person, told him things about my life, etcetera, as you do to normal people.

And once I found out the truth, I felt ALMOST abused myself. Soiled. Dirtied. I had looked into the eyes of evil, and hadn't known.
I needed to talk to someone about it, and of course, I turned to a priest.

It isn't something I'll ever forget. Because it totally shocked me. He didn't seem the sort. He really seemed such a pleasant person, shy, retiring, the type who you'd imagine kept an allotment, or went fishing. Not a child molester.
But he was.

And that was what was so hard to take in, to realise that every conversation you had with him was based on the most fundamental lie of all, the lie that he had any claim to talk to you as a human being.

It still disturbs me today. That I looked into the Eyes of Evil, and couldn't tell.

Now this story is, and I guess always will be, something that unsettles me. I never forget it, it affects the way I think in so many ways. I guess I have become hypersensitive to the existence of such people as a result. I find myself in pubs looking at people and thinking 'Is he one?'
And sometimes I want to talk about it, but thing is, it's something people don't want to hear. Every time I try to talk to my best mate about it, he says 'I don't really want to think about that stuff. Just try and forget about it. It's over now.'

And yet we all carry stuff. Burdens. Things we hide from people. Things we don't want to talk about, and yet we DO want to talk about.
Things we went through. Things we saw. Things that hurt us. Things we do. Thoughts we can't shake.

And we don't understand eachother, because we don't know.

It's a hard business, this living game. We all get battered and bruised along the way. Some things are like Aversion therapy. Everyone has their electric shocks- things which will give them an unpleasant memory, but seem innocuous to everyone else.

We spend so much time trying to appear perfect; Smart, sassy, clever, strong, that we hide our failings. We don't want to say 'I have an eating disorder' or 'I go into spasms just on seeing a cockroach' or 'I have these issues I can't come to terms with'.



But it needn't be something major. As I write this, I'm chatting to someone about an aspect of my work I don't like. And that, is getting technical specifications from 'Meat Packing Operators'. Slaughterhouses, basically. I just don't like getting down to the nitty gritty of the full process, pigs in one end, sausages out the other. I like sausages. I try hard to forget my sausages were once a living, breathing pig. And I don't find people who've worked in such an environment for a long time to be particularly pleasant people. And I find it hard to use '78,000 daily throughput' in a file, when what I really mean, is 78,000 carcasses. The whole thing revolts me, and I find it helpful to talk about it sometimes.

I think we all have things like this. We need to talk, but are scared to. Scared to be judged.
But where did it come from, this judging?

We've got used to judging, because we've got so used to not really knowing eachother. We fill in the blanks and create monsters, when in fact, the blanks are often similar blanks to our own.

I think we get so wrapped up in ourselves we don't stop to think what other people hide from us, scared of our judgement.
Is your boss a bastard because he's a bastard? Maybe he has a story he will never tell you, that would make you understand him and put yours arms round him.

When I was a child, if I broke one of my toys, I'd hide it. Why? I really don't know, but I think partly, there was this sense that you got into trouble for breaking things. And also, I didn't want to admit to a failing.

But in a deeper sense, I think we all do this. We hide the places WE are broken. We don't tell people and the problem is, they carry on treating us as if we aren't broken in certain places.

Part of the problem is power, again. As so much is. Because we are so used to hiding our flaws, we give huge power to those we show them to. We only show those we trust, but sometimes they let us down. So many times, we show people 'Look, I'm broken here' and they use that against us, they know exactly where to hit us AND IT WILL HURT.

And that just breaks us again, in another place.

And the danger is one day, we'll never trust again. Because we can't risk being broken again. But unless we trust people, how can we be healed? Unless we trust people, how can we have people guard us from being hit where we are broken?

I think it is better now we are able to 'Let it all hang out'. We find we are not alone and we actually find we aren't judged- not by people who matter. Let those who judge, judge.
Judging is something reserved for God, when people do it, it's usually because they are trying to hide the places they themselves are broken. The very fact they judge you, shows they envy your honesty and integrity. You have come to terms with yourself, they haven't come to terms with THEMselves.



So hold your head up high, and shout to the world;
'I'm broken. I have battle scars. I'm wounded here, here and here. There are things I do, I wish I didn't. I have this issue and this hang up and I'm scared of this, this and this. But I'm still here. And I haven't given up yet.'

Your scars are beautiful. The machinations we use to hide them, are not.

I would say, we're all only human, but there's no 'only' about it.

We ARE all in this together, I just don't think we appreciate quite how much. We all struggle, fight our own battles, but the battlefield we fight in, is so often the same.

We can learn a lot from eachother. It's good to talk. And good to listen too.