The other day, when I heard it for the millionth time that I was too much of this, that or the other -“too depressive” in this case, a feature of my way of being that seems to stand out more than the other two-hundred-and-ninety-seven they might have noticed if they had paid any attention- I had the mental and emotional presence to push back. What’s with people and labelling? Or maybe it was blaming. What’s with people and blaming?
It’s pretty fucked up, blaming, because if you’re the kind of person who goes through life not giving much of a second thought to stuff that happens to you and around you, you’re likely not to take the blame for much at all even when you actually have some degree of responsibility in the events in question. But if you’re the sort of human who has massive issues with making others even slightly unhappy, you’ll stop in your tracks at the first hint that anything might remotely be your ‘fault’. And it will take at least three counselling sessions before you can work out whether you actually have the faintest involvement in any specific chain of events. Three heart-wrenching conversations with somebody you trust way more than your own judgement to actually work out that whoever was so quick at pointing the finger is possibly just a bit of a prick. At least as often as not.
Anyway, for once I pushed back. As rationally as I could, I pointed out that I have, indeed, a tendency to feel a lot. And quite intensely. On the whole spectrum of human emotions, though. I think I read something along those lines in a book by Matt Haig that I never finished. I thought it resonated a lot. I matter-of-factly owned to my not infrequent depressive moments and drew attention to the fact that they happen pretty much as frequently as my passionate pursuits and contagious enthusiasms. “Oh, but those don’t last as long” was the reply.
It’s been two days and I am still thinking about it. I am still thinking about whether the prick is right or not. That’s a waste of mental resources, I’ll agree on that. And yet, I’m still a little proud because I’m thinking about it. Which means I haven’t automatically assumed it is, and therefore spiralled into one of the usual dark deep spirals we all get into at times – you know what that’s like. So, I’m here, stirring the kids’ pasta in the pan (yes, you’re meant to stir it) whilst holding a book I am so excited about I have to read at least a few pages right now, with a wooden spoon in one hand and Dino Dana’s dinosaur experiments in the background. And for some reason I feel like telling all the pricks in the world who cannot deal with feelings to get lost. Which is not very kind, admittedly. But then, it might do them some good.