We talk about the medicine, the side effects and the experience with the doctors. We talk about dosage, the things they make us do and do not do. But you know, we don’t talk about what made us seek help in the first place. What happened then, it’s implied and while there might be lots of different scenarios and the severities of back then, we still don’t have to be specific. Details comes when one is ready to talk about it, if ever. We get the bits that are important: we felt bad, horrible even, and we wanted to be better.
I thought most people got it, but I realise that it isn’t so. Those who haven’t been there, they most often don’t know shit. The tell-tale is in the judgemental tones. Because of course they know and of course it’s not special. They’ve been there too — except that they obviously haven’t. If they had, they wouldn’t need to pretend to know but they would get it. These people, they’ll never get it though. They’re the people — at times even family — that the details stay hidden from just because they’re so horrible at getting it. “It’s no big deal going through that. I’ve had it bad too, you know?”
Details comes with trust. the right kind of trust. It’s my birthday in 17 days. There was a time when I thought that this one was one I wouldn’t experience. (Or the one two years ago, that one had a nice number.)