No matter what situation I found myself in, most of my own doing, my dad would always listen to me. No matter how erroneous, he would listen to my point of view and in his often direct kind of way, he would respond with some wise words. What he never ever did, and what I try to never do to my girls, is minimize my feelings. Yes, the person in jail did some horrible stuff, but does that mean that he or she stops being human? That their feelings are somehow rendered meaningless?
Too often when we deal with our friends and family, we look at their behavior in terms of the impact on ourselves. We never take the time to really wonder what the root cause is. We see the surface, pass judgement and move on.
The worst feeling in the world is being in a crowded room and not feeling a connection to any person in it. When you feel like you can't share your true feelings, your true self, it's a solitary confinement that's more secure than Alcatraz.
Opening up to people doesn't usually come easy to people that have a mental illness. First, there's the stigma that is still associated with "being crazy." What's worse is trying to explain your thoughts to someone that won't or can't understand. So you're stuck with these thoughts that you can either deal with or lock away. You tell yourself you're alright and you know you're not because it's easier. It's easier to lie to yourself to get through the day. It's easier to put on a mask and be "happy" because that's the way you should be. And after you lie to yourself to fake your happiness for a long, it's much easier to lie to other people, even the ones you love.
As I continue my own journey and that dark voice tells me that no one cares, I'll probably agree... to a point. Even if no one else cares, I care enough about myself to keep fighting. Even if I'm the only person in my corner, that's enough.
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