Admittedly, we got nothing.
I would say this is a little something to stop the bleeding, but writing this feels heavier than anything I've written in months.
Rest assured readers, that Tom, Cate and I are well aware that there hasn't been posted anything here for a week. For some of us, it has been a rough week or so, I can only speak for myself having exclaimed, "lover, my muse has left us" and "muse, my lover has left us" at different times, so our ability to write about responsibility (or anything else) has been impaired.
But. To continue the theme of responsibility, to pick up that broken flag, I write. I held a crying woman (twice) in my arms, and was held by a different one attempting to explain that I really didn't know if I was doing "Okay" or not. I can watch as my friends, for one reason or another, tear themselves away from the group and school, counting and crossing off the emotional pillars I have come to count on fall away.
(I'm writing this listening to Thrice's MySpace page, or specifically, Come All You Weary and Broken Lungs. It's very Christian, but hell. It's Thrice. Give the songs a shot. Broken Lungs makes me wish I had a guitar and could sing "are we fools and cowards all" half as well as Mr. Kensrue.)
My responsibilities, to those women I have held is to hope and ease their burdens, for a moment, by telling another human being. I have no answers to their problems. I hold no solutions, and can find or imagine none in my mind. I could offer advice, in one case, "consolidate what you've got, then use that to figure out what you want". In the other, of which I dare not speak, my two responsibilities (show up and don't ask important questions) seemed easier to do in retrospect.
I held one of my friends as he asked why a promise made was broken, between portraits of young artists. He knew why. It had to be vocalized. Just to know someone is there. Something, somehow. He asked if anyone would care. I outlined how, where and when it'd hurt me in the deepest detail I could offer.
I cannot take the pain away. I cannot wipe the tears from the young woman's face in the airport terminal, and it would take hours before it appeared she truly brightened up. I told the young man to press on, not to give up hope. I cannot wrap my arms so wide as to stop the cascading waves of culture and fear from those I hold.
I can't. I can only offer my shoulders and arms. I'm sick and tired of seeing how brave we can be. I've watched it eat up my friends. I'm watching it eat up me. But so long as there is still a banner, tattered, broken and dropped, it's my responsibility to pick it up.
My back is strong, my shoulders are wide, and we must press on, through the sadness, through the despair to whatever's greeting us on the other side of tonight. Let's talk on the way.
Rest assured readers, that Tom, Cate and I are well aware that there hasn't been posted anything here for a week. For some of us, it has been a rough week or so, I can only speak for myself having exclaimed, "lover, my muse has left us" and "muse, my lover has left us" at different times, so our ability to write about responsibility (or anything else) has been impaired.
But. To continue the theme of responsibility, to pick up that broken flag, I write. I held a crying woman (twice) in my arms, and was held by a different one attempting to explain that I really didn't know if I was doing "Okay" or not. I can watch as my friends, for one reason or another, tear themselves away from the group and school, counting and crossing off the emotional pillars I have come to count on fall away.
(I'm writing this listening to Thrice's MySpace page, or specifically, Come All You Weary and Broken Lungs. It's very Christian, but hell. It's Thrice. Give the songs a shot. Broken Lungs makes me wish I had a guitar and could sing "are we fools and cowards all" half as well as Mr. Kensrue.)
My responsibilities, to those women I have held is to hope and ease their burdens, for a moment, by telling another human being. I have no answers to their problems. I hold no solutions, and can find or imagine none in my mind. I could offer advice, in one case, "consolidate what you've got, then use that to figure out what you want". In the other, of which I dare not speak, my two responsibilities (show up and don't ask important questions) seemed easier to do in retrospect.
I held one of my friends as he asked why a promise made was broken, between portraits of young artists. He knew why. It had to be vocalized. Just to know someone is there. Something, somehow. He asked if anyone would care. I outlined how, where and when it'd hurt me in the deepest detail I could offer.
I cannot take the pain away. I cannot wipe the tears from the young woman's face in the airport terminal, and it would take hours before it appeared she truly brightened up. I told the young man to press on, not to give up hope. I cannot wrap my arms so wide as to stop the cascading waves of culture and fear from those I hold.
I can't. I can only offer my shoulders and arms. I'm sick and tired of seeing how brave we can be. I've watched it eat up my friends. I'm watching it eat up me. But so long as there is still a banner, tattered, broken and dropped, it's my responsibility to pick it up.
My back is strong, my shoulders are wide, and we must press on, through the sadness, through the despair to whatever's greeting us on the other side of tonight. Let's talk on the way.
Labels: Blame James, Elevennames does not know the meaning of TMI, responsibility
posted by James Thomas à Becket | 2:40 AM
3 Comments:
I feel how you feel. In the short time I have been here, there were many times I've been on both sides of the crying coin (I've even caused it once or twice myself, though I didn't want to). Maybe we all spend too much time together or not enough time getting to know each other, but for some of us, there seems to be no place to run to (in my case, I go home to be ridiculed (My advisor met with my mom and during the meeting suggested we have family councling) and come here to face someone who I care for but constantly hurts me unintentionally (that doesn't make it hurt less)).
The truth is, where can we go. If you try to escape from your problems by going into a different realm, you will only create new conflicts while resolving nothing. Crying is very much like bleeding out the poison but sometimes the poison isn't in the blood. Human interaction may not always be the antidote however at the very least it is the novicane that numbs our pain.
Now (in my self-centered attempt of agreeing), it's funny I cam accross this today seeing I started out making several humorous comics. The last one was this year's valentine's day theme (it didn't occur during valentimes day but oh hell) and depicted an accurate situation of what I felt. Why am I even going through all this I wondered? Why don't I just look at the facts? Truth is, deep pent up problems can come out anytime and in this case, they came out today.
I don't want to be brave anymore. I just want someone to support me and care for me unconditionally and I'd promise to do the same for them. However, it hurts to even share my feelings and no one will know what demons I really battle. I also do not want to burden my friends with all this, for they all have their own problems and I don't want them to think I'm just doing this for attention (well, I guess i am in a way).
The point is, check how your friends are doing because even if they feel something, they may not always let you know. And if you are one of those who has pent up emotions, give an indication to someone so they can try and help. If you the readers are REALLY feeling squirrelly, get a close group (about 4 or 5 so to keep a small size yet make sure there can be someone who is empathetic as opposed to sympathetic) and have a "theropy session" (note: Be patient and let the person talk until they end, there are times I wanted to tell someone something and they just wouldn't let me jump in). Follow it up with hot cocoa and hugs and everyone involved will feel better.
I wish you and the readers luck and a brighter semester.
-anonymous until realised with the clue "likes the moon"
I try to give people I know a safe place to vent and to relieve. I don't know how well it works, but this is my little attempt at saying "Here I am world, I see the pain and I'm trying."
It's also admitting that there's some things I can't cure, and things I can't make alright, no matter how hard I try or no matter how many pillows I try to break the falls with.
I could use a therapy session myself, but I don't have the time. I was thinking about calling up one of my friends and saying "I need a drink", but really what I need is a way of saying "It's hard for me to go on like this, remind me that I'm still doing the right thing" and the booze is really only a shortcut to that.
It's weird. I'm still not quite sure who you are, but I suspect if you want to let me know, I'll find out. It's not like I don't have multiple points of contact (cell phone, IM, email, etc, etc).
Or, I might just need a concert, which, hopefully, there will be quite a few of this month. I hope you're doing well.
I could have made this anonymous, but at the risk of sounding pompous or conceited, I didn't.
I think there's a certain release to be found in helping others with their problems. If you are truly engaged in "being there" for someone you can forget your own trials for a while. It's somewhat purgative to pour yourself into empathizing with another human being.
However be sure not to pour too much of yourself. Its easy for those who really care to give too much, go too far into the other in an effort to help, cure, save something that they can have no real effect on.
That's my problem... I feel like I'm responsible for the wellbeing of others. I feel like a mother figure, and though I love caring for people, there needs to be a limit. I once had a friend say "Don't tell Katie you're problems, she just tries to fix them." While I took this as a sort of back-handed compliment at the time, I realize now it was a kind of warning.
I want to help everyone, fix everything, and that can be very unhealthy. To me there's nothing more frustrating than someone who doesn't want to be helped; someone who is willing to remain downtrodden, weak, and/or miserable.
After years of being someone people come to for venting/bitching/crying, etc [a role I would never give up] I realized I need help too. It's not possible to take on the worries of everyone you care about and still remain a healthy individual, emotionally or physically. I'm not ashamed to say I got help. The counseling center here on campus has been an invaluable resource over the past year. I don't want to think about what kind of state I would be in now if it wasn't for the caring people in that office. And now that I've made that first, terrifying step of admitting I need help, I know the benefits of getting it.
Admitting you need help is not a weakness. And those of us that are often in the role of helping others need to remember that.
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