Talking vs. Action

You know, nowadays you here a lot of people, from what I've seen, mostly women and feminists, which are two different groups if you didn't know, have been pushing this narrative that men should use more, well, narration. That men should talk more. Talk about their feelings. What's bothering them, or just for talking's sake. They are forcing what works for them onto men when that's not necessarily what works for me. Men often, if not mostly, prefer, not to talk about their issues, but address them and fix them. I will use myself as an example.

From age ten to twenty I went in and out of a depressed state. I thought a lot of death and suicide and seriously contemplated it a few times. Often it was only fear that kept me from it. Now, I like to talk and hate keeping secrets, so naturally I could only keep this to myself for so long and about a year after first suicidal thought I talked to my mom. I spilled my guts and told her about my thoughts. She took it in stride and told me something along the lines of that I could come to her and that no one was worth killing myself over. When I was thirteen I went to a psychiatrist to talk about my feelings and problems. While I won't say the meetings were worthless, they didn't really get me out of my funk and between the age of fourteen to fifteen I thought about suicide, seriously or not, every day. In the end, all the talking didn't help, it just made me feel like I was complaining and forcing my problems onto others. They had their own problems and didn't need my bull.

Jump ahead to about a year ago. My confidence had been building over the years, due in large part due to me getting friends, and I start trying to fix myself. I began to meditate and exercise and enjoy life. I also began to spend a lot of time thinking. Just thinking about how to get out of the state of mind I was in. I worked to repair my mind and become whole again. Finally, a few months ago I was thinking and came to a realization. The reason for my depression and all the misery that came from it was because I was a gigantic pussy!

I know that must have seemed like quite the odd statement, so let me explain. My depression all originated from one moment that led to a domino effect that nearly killed me. You see, one day, one of my friends brought someone to our group. This person was a rather mean kid and me, being shy and timid, got scared, and separated myself from the group. In doing so I grew lonely, and from that loneliness sadness followed with rage coming in later for spice.

So what happened recently was the revelation that had this happened today, i.e. mean kid talking shit, I would have laughed it off, given him the finger, and walked away like nothing happened. Upon that realization, I was finally able to let go, almost entirely of all the angst that had been tearing me apart. This might sound ridiculous, but the whole thing was ridiculous. I let one moment in my life determine its course for a decade. When I finally realized that and let go, I gained my freedom. I am now happier than I've ever been and don't plan on going back to who I was and I like to think of myself as a good example of the saying, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger".

Now, what's my point? My point is, there's no one way for anything. No cure all or single way to fix something. Talking may work for some, including men. In fact I'm sure of that. But for me, it was addressing the issue, confronting the problem that allowed me to get better. That's what I want everyone, men, women, feminists, anti-feminists, and everyone else to understand. Everyone's different and while I most whole-heartedly encourage you to be there for those around you, allow the possibility of self-determination and the ability to fix things themselves. Often your mere presence is enough. Humans beings are amazing things and you'll often find yourself surprised at what we can do. Just a little food for thought.