Author: Michelle

I can probably out right to you and keep out communicate you to the point where it will drive you Maddingly insane
–Anon.

You start a conversation, you can’t even finish it.
You’re talking a lot, but you’re not saying anything.
–Talking Heads/Psycho Killer

Right, but what if I am Maddingly insane already? It’s not like I need to be helped down that path. Because talking is hard.

Because of technical issues, because of time, because someone is reticent or completely silent, because I have assumed that someone’s intentions were bad, because I don’t want to say something that might hurt someone’s feelings, because someone doesn’t want to hurt mine, because I assume that people aren’t particularly interested in hearing from me…because…because…because…

The reasons are limitless, really.

Sort of like the stupidity of assuming anything about anything.

Actually, I was wrong. Talking is easy. Communicating successfully? Is anyone actually good at it? I mean, I can’t even do the talking part unless I have a notepad. Oh, I’m brave in writing. I have all the time in the world. I can throw the words out there and never know if anyone even reads them.

Oh, right. That’s a monologue. Not communicating at all. Talking to myself, it seems, is what I am best at.

And abusing the rules of grammar.

In fat camp, they claim that most people have functional coping and communication skills. I…reserve judgement. I know that anecdote does not equal data, but in my experience people have trouble communicating.

Also? I was wrong about being wrong about talking not being easy. For some of us, a lot of us, talking is hard. Just saying words out loud. Hard.

Talking? Verbally? I can feel words building up, and they stay there. I could choke on them if they were real. I feel like my eyes get bigger and sadder and then I say something awkward and awful and cry. And not even something awkward and awful meant what I wanted to say in the first place. I would probably be more emotionally successful if I pretended to be mute. I could just hold up my iPad with all the right words on it when I felt a need to be understood.

Of course, saying something is one thing and being understood something else entirely. Even in writing.

If talking is hard, making yourself understood is even harder.

I would define myself as introverted, but not repressed. As long as I have a pencil. I wonder if this is a common thing? It could be common among people who write. Artists, maybe. Singer-songwriters.

Without a pencil? You should give me the fucking pencil back. I’ll break your fucking arm.

Other people? They can talk. Make people laugh. But they won’t say what is in their heart for fear of…whatever it is we are all afraid of. Masters of misdirection. Extroverts on the outside, and repressed on the inside. They get a little bit of a release, I suppose, from talking…but if everything is a joke? What happens with the serious, the sad? Don’t they want to just say what they feel sometimes instead of deflecting everyone with something funny? Or do they feel totally fine just the way they are?

It’s a bit alien to me.

What do people do who are both introverted and emotionally repressed? They must explode. Actually, I know they do. I have been that way when I don’t have an outlet for it. It just all stays in there until something gives.

Something always gives.

Unless you are one of the 3 people on Earth who is both reasonably extroverted and not repressed. Congratulations. No, I’m not talking about the people who are extroverted and completely unfiltered. Although I love you. You never have to wonder what you are thinking, and it is a joy. Unless we have a secret.

We all have something flawed about us, I suppose.

In writing, I try not to censure myself most of the time. I don’t say anything awful about other people. Only about myself. I can take it. Oh and yes: censure can mean both “editing what I say” and “saying critical things” so fuck this whole paragraph.

I try not to talk directly about other people. If I talk about other people, it’s either to say something nice about them, or to talk in general terms about people who I might have had relationships with in the past. I might write things they might find uncomfortable, if they saw it. Most people I write about would never see it. The ones who do probably already know what I think before I write it. At least I think they do. I try not to write what would hurt someone else while telling my own truth. A balancing act.

You’ve heard I’m bad at balance. More than once.

Maybe I’ll name names someday. That could be fun.

***True confession:
In case you can’t tell, I wrote part of this (it’s safe to assume it wasn’t any of the good parts) while watching back to back episodes of Game of Thrones. Prince Oberyn was a bit of a distraction. Sorry–this might be lacking in such important elements as critical thinking, consistent style, proper grammar and anything resembling editing.