Feelings, nothing more than feelings...
“Frank, to you ‘Feelings’ may be goddamn filet mignon, but to me, it’s parsley.”
Susie Diamond from the film, The Fabulous Baker Boys had a point. The song Feelings is parsley, actually, I think it’s a miserable dirge—it’s certainly no match for Susie’s smokin’ hot rendition of Making Whoopee.
To be clear, this article/blog/newsletter is not about that terrible song.
Nor is it a tribute to how much I love The Fabulous Baker Boys but it could be because I love that movie. Furthermore, I could easily write 1200 words about 80s Jeff Bridges alone. But no, this is a sort of follow-up to something else I wrote about feelings—moreover, mental health:
Why do I need such a follow-up, you ask? Well, people had a reaction to it. That’s right, they had feelings about feelings.
Feelings aren’t for the faint of heart.
The hard-worn soldier battling mental illness is often skilled at internalising feelings. And as some of us know, conditions like depression can make us numb to feelings.
(After this, you’ll never want to read the word or hear the song feelings ever again.)
Those that wrangle mind monkeys manage the disease a bit like functioning alcoholics do. They somehow live, what seems to others at least, a normal life. I see depression as being on a spectrum, not everyone suffering is in constant arm-to-arm combat. Sometimes it’s a cold war. An ever-present background threat of mental disaster.
I was chatting with My Mate Dave…
We message every day, mostly to exchange insults, y’know like a proper British friendship. In between him calling me a cunt, he offers words of encouragement.
I mentioned to him that my last post made some people uncomfortable. Dave went on to make an interesting point (which is so unlike him). He reckoned people have a less than favourable response when they openly express negative emotions.
(He didn’t say that as eloquently as I wrote it, he’s kind of an imbecile.)
That was a fucking gong sounding in my brain—he was right, which again, is so unlike him.
FYI: Dave has a podcast. It’s pretty good, and thank the lord, each episode is about five minutes long:
Hold up!
Before I continue with the subject, I’d like to add that whilst I’m here telling you about my feelings, I ironically dislike over-sharers. (Yeah, I’m the proverbial walking talking contradiction.)
We’ve all read cryptic attention-seeking Facebook updates. Well, that’s the stuff I hate. I also get pissy about those who document their entire divorce in what seems like a 20-part drama across all social media platforms.
To further assert my being a contradiction, I consider myself fairly open. Ok, I’m selectively open.
(Confused? Keep reading, it doesn’t get any clearer.)
Listen, being uninhibited is easy when I write because I’m talking to myself. And let me tell you, I talk to myself far more than I talk to anyone else.
I do sometimes forget that someone might read this. But to me, it doesn’t seem like I’m declaring a secret to the world so it comes as a mild shock when I get a concerned response to my writing. The danger is to start questioning if I should be talking openly about this at all.
Should I be unabashed about my feelings?
Perhaps, like so many others, I ought to feel embarrassment. Thankfully I don’t experience any genuine shame because I’m convinced those reactions, however valid, are much more about the person feeling awkward on my behalf.
I think when we ask someone how they’re feeling, we rarely want an honest answer. Most human interactions have a procedural nature to them. So in the context of a casual conversation, we expect to hear that the person is doing well, we’re completely unprepared when someone goes off-script. Any talk about real feelings breaks the rules of small talk etiquette.
It’s not that we don’t care.
(Ok, some of us don’t care.)
The truth is we have no idea what to do when a person goes rogue and tells us they’re an emotional wreck. Despite the enthusiastic encouragement to talk, we don’t know what the fuck to do when someone does. In particular, our nearest and dearest struggle when we pull back the curtain on our hideous thoughts.
It reminds me of that scene in the 1945 film adaptation of The Picture of Dorian Gray. You remember the story, Dorian remains youthful whilst his portrait grotesquely ages. The film is in black and white (like all the best films are) save for the last scene when it cuts to the portrait, which is revealed in terrifying Technicolor™️:
That’s what I imagine each time I voice things I would otherwise hide.
Christmas 2021, I uncharacteristically lost my shit.
Chrimbo is a time for giving but often people get gifts they don’t want, like novelty socks and harsh truths.
In general, I’m known for speaking my mind (yes, I’m one of those arseholes) but it’s not usual for me to speak candidly about personal stuff. But when you keep a lid on feelings they have a tendency to make like an unsupervised pressure cooker—they blow eventually.
Full disclosure: I’d sunk a few beers during a festive get-together—right or wrong—booze always lubes up the ole honesty nut. At the start, it felt liberating. It was freeing to release the rising steam, unfortunately, my perception of a lived experience wasn’t met with understanding. No, instead, some malevolence was served.
Keeping it realz about your feelz will sometimes be as welcome as diarrhoea in a public swimming pool. You won’t necessarily be bathed with love and understanding. Be prepared to get some shit splashed at you from the unlikeliest of places.
As I said, we’re not always great at knowing what to do when this kind of thing happens—when people express unvarnished feelings. One type of reaction might be to offer a solution to what is perceived as a problem. Another common comeback is to relate your experience to a time they felt similar. I understand the need to do that, we mirror each others’ circumstances as a kind of bonding exercise but to the person bearing their soul, it comes off like the other person is a self-centred twat.
If you’re unlucky, the person you’re being all real with will have opinions about what you’re feeling. Really insensitive types may decide your feelings aren’t right and judge you for them. But it’s irrelevant if people don’t agree with what you’re going through, your emotional state is not a question for debate.
A problem shared is a problem halved.
That’s why a good convo with someone you trust is really special. The act of speaking about your fears and anxieties will help you in ways you never thought possible. But the human acting as the sounding board has to make an effort.
Sadly, some people struggle to shut the fuck up and listen. When you pluck up the courage to chat, that’s all you want.
You’re not usually after advice, you don’t care if they think you’re right, you just want a friendly ear, some tea (hopefully gin) and the freedom to spill your guts. Someone giving you their undivided attention goes a long fucking way. Because I’m tired of hearing this after some poor bugger ends it all: “I wish he said something”.
Y’know, maybe he did but you were terrible at listening.