Social Rules? Fuck them.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a post in my feed from a girl I absolutely adore. The gist of her update was that due to 'social rules' she was withholding her feelings and instead posting a video of moose noises. The social rule in this instance was not burdening others with negativity or unhappiness. Apparently, if you put too many downtrodden posts out into the cyber world people get annoyed.

Of course, in my true fashion, I replied with, "Social rules? Fuck them."

And it wasn't just a passing comment, nor something witty or humorous said to garner chuckles. It wasn't a flippant remark. It wasn't said without feeling or thought. 

I genuinely think most social rules should be ignored. Not because I'm a rebel. Not because I like to stir the pot. But because I don't like the idea of people censoring themselves. I don't think it is healthy to slap a hand over your mouth and swallow your emotions, especially if it is only not to piss off the wrong people. I say wrong people because the right ones will never be annoyed by you. The right ones will always care. They will always love and protect and give you a safe place to fall apart and pull yourself together.

It is counterproductive to one's health and well being to stifle thoughts, cares, concerns and feelings. This world is tough. People are hard. The badness can weigh you down, make it seem as if it is impossible to stand and walk and exist. Life is difficult. It isn't easy. And sometimes we get lost. We can't find our way. We stumble through the darkness, waiting for the light, just a flicker to pull us through. Realistically, most of us can't do it alone. We need other people in order to make it out okay. To survive the blackness.

I am grateful for those who have shone their light on me. And I only hope there are others who are grateful that I have held up a flame for them. 

Why have they done this for me? Why will I do it for you?

Because we are all connected. We are one. Me and you. We exist here. Together.

And if we can't turn to our friends and family, if we can't speak our minds, in person or on the intersnacks to the ones we care about, the ones who are supposed to give a damn, then what good is socializing anyhow? Not being honest with our feelings, not being truthful to the ones we let into our hearts is utter bologna. This isn't a tea party. We aren't ladies. And we don't lift our pinkies when we drink tea. Well, some of us don't. Some of us have to because it's ingrained in us and an impossible habit to break. But what I am saying is we aren't debutantes. We aren't playing bridge and talking about the weather, eating cucumber sandwiches and wearing floral hats. The days of hiding our secrets and inconvenient emotions in a box under our beds are over because it never made anything better. (This is the comedic relief)

Here is where there is no humour.

Depression is a real thing. More people are affected by it every day. Mental health issues. Suicide. These are things that exist in our lives, that we brush shoulders with, that some of us know far too well. Chances are, someone we love is suffering. Hurting. In pain. Struggling. It boggles my mind and befuddles my heart to consider the fact someone I adore could need help but is not speaking up, not asking for help, not venting because of some stupid social rule.

Fuck the weak of heart and uncaring. Fuck the ones who get annoyed by expression of emotion. Fuck anyone who doesn't want to hear it. Fuck those who are scared of the truth.

Because the alternative to speaking up and writing posts and talking about the pain and negativity and doubt and hurt and despair and uncertainty is bottling it up. Shoving it down. Ignoring it. Hiding. Running away. Recoiling. Shutting everyone out. Turning away. Leaving them to 'deal' with it on their own. For them to try to find their way through the darkness without a hand to hold or someone to talk to.

That's why I say fuck social rules. Let it out. Because keeping it in isn't helping anyone. And if anyone is truly bothered by how you are feeling or what you are thinking, then they can fuck right off too. They aren't worth the time or energy and clearly need to cultivate their empathy and understanding. Maybe a lesson in love will set them straight.

Perhaps it's because I've experienced the darkness that I understand if you don't let it out, you will never let it go.

The Art of Letting Go

Sometimes it feels as though the past has the hem of my dress in its grasp and is holding me back. I mean, there's slight movement. I'm inching along, there is forward motion, but it's a struggle. The past has so much power. Okay, yeah, I know it only has the power I give it and life is all about the now, but it's a lie to pretend it dosn't matter. Because it's a part of us. It brought us to this moment. Surely, we shouldn't let it hinder us, but to pretend it isn't important seems a bit ridiculous.

Am I talking complete nonesense?

And so, here begins the art of letting go. It takes time and is different for everyone.

There's something odd about knowing you must let go. Wanting to. But simply not being able to pull the trigger. Imagine what you want to let go of, let's say it's hurting someone you love, it's a ball in your hand. You're standing there, at the edge of a cliff, this orb of guilt and shame and sadness sitting on your palm. And you release it. But it's stuck there. It won't leave you, no matter how many times you shake your hand or blow it off.

I spend time thinking through the things I've done. The people I have hurt. Mistakes I've made. At times, I think I'm doing a good job. I confront my fear. Mend my fences. Forage friendships from the ashes of a relationship I thought would be my last. Things seem okay.

Then I'm bending over at work, stooping to sweep up a pile of hair off the floor, and I'm thrown back five years ago. Or three. Two. And there are tears in my eyes, and that unnegotionable headache pinching between my brows.

Sadness ebbs and flows. I can actually feel it washing through me and leaving again, like it is a living breathing creature. These emotions aren't necessarily a bad thing, but they can surprise me, because they are ones I fooled myself into thinking I let go off. Set free. Come to terms with.They aren't supposed to come back and knock the wind from me.

The question is there, it's bothering me, prodding me.

Why does it still hurt?

Is it because I haven't let go? Or have I, and I simply won't forget? Can you let something go, only to have it come back to you for a random visit in the middle of a grey Wednesday? There is that saying about how if you love something you set it free and if it comes back it is meant to be. Or whatever.

Does that apply to hurts and mistakes and residual feelings of guilt?

I don't know.

All I know is this letting go business is more difficult than anyone lets on. It's a process. A journey.

Not something done overnight after a cleansing meditation session and a crisp apple. At least that's what I thought it entaild. How wrong I was.