The first post of 1/1/2017, and it will be done through tipsy fingers.
Suffering the weird muscle/body shocks of Effexor withdrawal, and insomnia, prompted me to get a little happy new years eve, hoping drunkeness could knock me out. So far it has not. So far all I’ve done is get jiggy to some Tyga’s Faded, snuggle my kitten until she meows and bites at me, and overreact to losing some boardgames.
And I don’t
But the point of this post was to not babble drunkenly. My point was to babble drunkenly ABOUT something specific.
I haven’t been on WordPress often recently, at least I haven’t been looking through everyone’s posts lately, and I miss doing that. I miss reading about people’s lives–not to be a fucking weirdo, but to see how everyone is doing, good or bad. I like communicating with ya’ll and I love meeting new people.
It makes me sad that we’re not a society that likes to know what happened to people. From what I’ve experienced, at least in the places I’ve been, we’re more of a society that takes something at face value. We see someone talking to themselves on the street, so they’re crazy. We see someone hugging their child in the supermarket and think they’re a wonderful parent. We love categories. It’s really weird. It’s like we have this love affair with this wack organization system that isn’t very good at organizing as it is.
Not that I’m one to know what organization is.
But I do know a thing or two about humans, given I’ve observed them silently, in the shadows, waiting to reveal my Reptilian face for so long.
I don’t think I can reasonably claim to be human.
Anyone seen that fucking show on TBS, People Of Earth? My God. These. Are. My. People. Don’t know what I’m talking about? Check this:
Anyway, the hell was I talking about?
Oh yeah. Someone walking down the street talking to themselves may very well be struggling mentally. But how do you know what they’ve been through? Who are you to judge anything about them? What gives you the right to put a label? You don’t know how they grew up. You don’t know what pain they’ve suffered and still suffer. You don’t even know their fucking name. You know what happens when you do that?
You create a disconnect. You separate yourself from another human who could very well benefit from a connection. I’m not saying walk up to random people on the street and force friendship down their throat in some kind of weirdly violent-erotic way, life isn’t a freaky porn shoot.
I’m just saying don’t be so quick to exercise your Associates degree in psychology. Your little piece of paper means nothing, and neither does your google search, stop acting like it. It means you can learn and go to school, congratulations. A lot of people do that. A LOT. Doesn’t mean you’re any good at being a human. This is coming from someone pursuing a Medical Degree. I might be smart in academics, but I’ll tell you I’m not very good at blending in or connecting with humans.
Someone hugging their child could be beating them at home.
My point is: you don’t know someone’s story until you know them as a person, and your quick judgement isn’t knowing them as a person.
Everyone faults. Everyone judges at some point in their life, it’s human. But to do it consistently, to do it on purpose because you don’t know how else to act–that disturbs me.
In 2017, don’t avoid the chance to learn someone’s story. It’s not just for their benefit, it’s for your benefit too. It’s for the benefit of the relationship. Because something in their story might relate to your story and the pain you’ve been hiding might be similar to the pain they’ve been hiding. Magical things can come from that sort of interaction. Not cures. But magical things.
My current playlist tonight, to drunk-sleep to: