The Treasure Chest

Life: Vent

So the "Life" category will just be sort of a collection of life tips, maybe some life hacks, and the truth of life basically, which doesn't really go in rant or in share.

Enjoy!

Quote to start off:

"Sometimes sharing a problem doesn't make it easier to carry."- Hazel Levesque, The Son of Neptune

We all get really angry sometimes. Really sad. Really frustrated, hurt, wounded. And when we do, we all think dark thoughts. Don't deny it; we all do. I do. My thoughts are probably darker than anybody would ever want to know, about darker subjects than those that are able to talk about, to discuss.

So we all need a place to vent. To channel our anger, express our pain, share our feelings.

Not necessarily writing. Everyone has their own way to vent. Mine is to write rants or stories, usually really deep stories with a lot of metaphors and figurative language. I have a friend who sings when she's stressed - she sings really well, too - and it helps her. There are people who draw. Paint. Sculpt. Game. Eat. Play an instrument. Work. Heck, some even clean.

The point is: Everyone has a way to express themselves, to release everything bottled up inside them. And you do; if you say you don't, then you probably just haven't discovered it. If so, then you should. No, you have to. You have to have a way to get it out of you, or you'll go crazy. Madly insane.

Here's a tip, though; let no one but your closest friends, orcomplete strangers that you will never meet, see or hear your vents. Especially adults, and even more especially parents. And gossipy girls (sorry, but its mostly girls). Because for whatever demented reason, they can't accept the fact that you are just letting it out. Seriously.

People: just because someone says the word "suicide", doesn't mean that person is going to do it. I think about it, I've written a really dark, secret journal entry about it, and there is a possibility that I'm not going to. Maybe I write it because I don't want to; to get it out of my system and not think about it anymore. Despite everything, I still have stuff to live for, even if it's only to find out what happened to two fictional characters. Also, I just started a new book serries. I at least have to finish that first, and there's six books and three prequels and a companion. So.

ANYWAY. Back to the point. If I was really going to suicide, I wouldn't tell anybody, wouldn't let there be a chance of anyone stopping me. I would write something, maybe, but I would place it in a place where nobosy- NOBODY - could ever find it until after everything was over. Or maybe I'd just be cruel and let everyone wonder if it was their fault... nah. That's be grade-A mean. 

ANYWAY (again, why do I keep doing this?). Keep your "vents" from prying minds, from people who don't care and are just curious, but share with at least one person. Just one. Doesn't matter who, why, gender, age, etc. Choose one person you trust completely and wholeheartedly and who would never breathe a word to another soul, no matter what, and share your burden. Let them help you if they are willing. My friend, the one that sings good? One of the only people she sings to when she sings to relieve stress is me. I don't know why. But she trusts me, knows I will still be her friend and support her no matter what. And I do. My rants, I share on Wattpad. But that's not really my true vents. The blackest parts of my mind are typed out on a note file in my phone, and locked with a PIN code. No one knows about these except my friend Tuna (from the Chess, remember her?) and my older brother. I don't even remember how Tuna knew the PIN. I think I showed her once, but I'm not sure...

But I wrote out my feelings once. On a tiny little half-sheet of lined paper. I just made a list of what made me want to cry/scream/punch right then, and why so. I just left it on my table at home, and lo and behold, my parents come and say what I wrote hurt them (they were on my list) and why did I feel that way and on and on and on... I didn't write any more rants for a while after that, anything to keep me sane and not driven with hatred. It didn't work. I broke one day and yelled at one of my parents for something he was wrong about, and he slapped me across the face. It hurt, I suppose, but what hurt more was that he was wrong, and I was right, that time, and yet I was the one punished, and the unjustice of it led to me grabbing my backpack, walking out the door, and to school. (Which really wasn't that far, about five minutes.) I went back to writing rants after that. Some I post on Wattpad; most people who read them, I will never meet. Those I do meet are close friends and I trust them. 

Lesson: Don't stop venting. Just keep it hidden.

P.S. Sometimes digging your nails into your palms helps, too, although I'm not sure why.