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why i don't talk about things
So I thought I'd take this opportunity, while the system is down (edit: only down for a couple of minutes, as it turns out, but things crashing in the week of the publication deadline? um, no), to say a couple of things about how I'm not talking about stuff.
I'm sure it's frustrating. In fact I know it is;![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darththalia has said more than once, in various situations, that she hopes I'll eventually explain what I'm referring to because she's making herself nuts with wondering.
I know that. But I don't refuse to talk about stuff for the purpose of driving people nuts with wondering. I'm as frustrated with myself as you are, when I get like this. Possibly more so. Because I wish I could talk about it -- in fact, I know I could, but I can't bring myself to do it.
[This is related in large part to the childish superstition about telling what you wished for on your birthday candles, or whatever. For some reason I'm very susceptible to that one. (It's #53, behind that link, that's to do with this.)]
Whenever I think oh, for christ's sake, get over it -- and I do -- the next thought is inevitably but right now it's okay, even if it's not good, and what if after, it's not? don't rock the boat. (This is no way to be, I know. I know.) I circle like this for long enough that eventually, another thought gets added to the mix, which is if you bring it up now, everyone will say "that's the big deal you didn't want to talk about? what were you so worried for?", which may be true, because I know it's hardly ever actually a big deal; big deals, I do talk about.
Of course related to this last is the worry that should I happen to give in and talk about whatever it is (I do this all the time, obviously), people will laugh at me. I know they will, because I laugh at them. It's not mockery, it's not cruel at all -- it's just teasing, and we all get it sometimes, and we can all take it as well as dish it out, and I know and most of my friends know when to quit it, and it's fine; so I don't know why I'm so often so reluctant to make myself the object of it.
But I am. I am paralyzed by a cycle of anxiety -- whatever-it-is makes me a little anxious, and the idea of talking about it makes me more anxious, and the fact that I keep myself from talking about it makes me annoyed and anxious, and it never ends. (That's what makes it vicious. And a circle.)
I'm sure it's frustrating. In fact I know it is;
darththalia has said more than once, in various situations, that she hopes I'll eventually explain what I'm referring to because she's making herself nuts with wondering.I know that. But I don't refuse to talk about stuff for the purpose of driving people nuts with wondering. I'm as frustrated with myself as you are, when I get like this. Possibly more so. Because I wish I could talk about it -- in fact, I know I could, but I can't bring myself to do it.
[This is related in large part to the childish superstition about telling what you wished for on your birthday candles, or whatever. For some reason I'm very susceptible to that one. (It's #53, behind that link, that's to do with this.)]
Whenever I think oh, for christ's sake, get over it -- and I do -- the next thought is inevitably but right now it's okay, even if it's not good, and what if after, it's not? don't rock the boat. (This is no way to be, I know. I know.) I circle like this for long enough that eventually, another thought gets added to the mix, which is if you bring it up now, everyone will say "that's the big deal you didn't want to talk about? what were you so worried for?", which may be true, because I know it's hardly ever actually a big deal; big deals, I do talk about.
Of course related to this last is the worry that should I happen to give in and talk about whatever it is (I do this all the time, obviously), people will laugh at me. I know they will, because I laugh at them. It's not mockery, it's not cruel at all -- it's just teasing, and we all get it sometimes, and we can all take it as well as dish it out, and I know and most of my friends know when to quit it, and it's fine; so I don't know why I'm so often so reluctant to make myself the object of it.
But I am. I am paralyzed by a cycle of anxiety -- whatever-it-is makes me a little anxious, and the idea of talking about it makes me more anxious, and the fact that I keep myself from talking about it makes me annoyed and anxious, and it never ends. (That's what makes it vicious. And a circle.)