November 26th: Between the lines

Sometimes feelings are wordless.
Sometimes words aren't enough.
Sometimes there is no coherency
When one loses their faith in love.
Sometimes our hearts are empty.
Sometimes our love isn't true.
Sometimes the words we speak have no meaning
So we start our lives anew.
Memory is unforgiving,
This love that I can not pursue.
We're leaving the past behind us,
And here I am wishing you knew.
Don't listen to all that I tell you,
Instead look straight into my eyes.
If you listen to what I don't say,
Please try to read between the lines.

Human beings should be simple. If we all said what we thought and how we felt, how simple life would be. It would be like reading someone's mind, only minus the fear that they'd be thinking something horrible about you that you'd have to acknowledge. We would all know what was occupying everybody else's mind all the time - a scary yet incredibly intriguing thought.

But we don't. We don't say what we think, we don't share how we feel, and we can't read minds - and we get annoyed when people don't understand us. But why? Why don't we tell people these things?

I don't tell people these things because I'm embarrassed. I've always been one of those people who likes to sort things out by themselves; I've always been fairly self-reliant when it comes to problems I've had throughout my life. It embarrasses me to ask for help - it makes me feel weak, like I can't deal with things alone, or like I'm bothering people by talking about myself too much, no matter how much the recipient of my self-indulgent splurge denies it. But I've recently discovered that I'm not the only person who feels this way and that's quite comforting, in the way that knowing you're not alone always is.

But perhaps the most common reason for not sharing is because of this. Let me ask you a question:

How are you?

Hands up if your automatic response was 'good' or 'fine'.

Now let me ask you this:

Are you all right?

Again, hands up if the word 'fine' was the first thing that came into your head.

It seems to be automatic to reply in the affirmative to this question. As human beings, we don't want to admit to something being wrong (I don't know about other cultures, but I don't think being British particularly helps with this. Stiff upper lip and all that - even though I'm not particularly British in either appearance or mannerisms) because we all want to keep our pride and present ourselves as being able to swallow every lemon life hurls at us with a smile glued to our face. But I know that in my case, certainly, I reply to the question "how are you?" with positive answers so regularly that with certain people 'fine' doesn't mean fine anymore. I have... sort of a code, I suppose, of euphemistic ways of saying no, I'm not fine, because I can't admit that something's wrong. It goes 'fine', 'okay' and 'good', with 'fine' meaning 'not fine' and 'good' meaning... well, good, really. But those who take notice of these things will see that I rarely reply 'good' anymore, and, finding that elusive silver lining, that's something of an improvement. I may be answering euphemistically but at least I'm answering honestly.

Sometimes we don't talk about things because we want the person we're talking to to work it out for themselves. If they know everything and they know us, we think they should know what we're feeling and thinking without us having to tell them, because that's the sign of true friendship - being able to act as if that person's mind is a mere extension of your own, and you want to believe that the extension of your mind knows what you're thinking and how you're feeling even if they've never experienced it themselves. We want our loved ones to read between the lines, to stop second guessing and trust their instincts and know automatically what's wrong. It doesn't happen often but it doesn't stop us hoping it will - and the ability is there in so many people, just buried beneath the dust collected by living life.

Sometimes we don't talk about things - but we don't refrain from talking about them because they're not important. We refrain from talking about them because they're the most important things in our lives, so important and so constant and so lifechanging that we have no way of expressing them. These things are the 'dark' things we think nobody else will understand, the things that are hard to talk about, the things we think make us abnormal or weird - but 'weird' has negative connotations and these things get easier to talk about the more you do it, especially when you have to respond to questions instead of explaining on your own. Questions are specific; they show us we're not alone, because somebody else knows what's happening well enough to know what to ask. We are not weird; we are different. We are unique. Yes, maybe we are - or I am, at least - a little crazy. But life goes on, and it always will, regardless of whatever psychological or physical problems we may have, so we may as well make the effort to keep up.

Molly x