Nobody Knows Me At All

On tears, farts and friendship

On Saturday my stories about antidepressants and mental health came out in the local paper. One story was an interview with a kind psychologist named Michelle Heaton, and she shared with me a document called “The Four Pillars of Mental Health.” They are nutrition, sleep, movement and connection, and more specifically connection without judgement. When reading her advice the thing that really rolled around in my head was “In order to have healthy connections, we need to show people (those that we trust) our true selves.”

Non judgement is a thing. I’m reading about it right now with regards to feelings of self in the book Come As You are by Emily Nagoski. Nagoski believes if you can observe (without judgement) your feelings toward yourself, it will improve your sex life.

The idea of nonjudgement got me thinking about relationships free of judgement, and if that’s even really possible? Despite Tupac’s declaration that “Only God Can Judge Me,” everyone judges, some people are just better about hiding it than others. And sometimes judgement can be good. If a friend says to me, “Alex I’m drunk dialing my ex, please endorse this idea” I shall not! As friends we have an obligation to look out for loved ones and their best interests, but on the less dangerous end of the relationship continuum, coming to each other without judgement is interesting. Can we have tolerance?

“Come as you are” was a famous platitude long before Nagoski wrote a book with the double entrendre, or Kurt Cobaine assured listeners he didn’t have a gun. The phrase actually began as a popular hymn about god’s mercy of all things. Why is it important not just to have someone to small talk with but also to be completely honest with? Why is it important to show someone the ugly and uncertain side of yourself? Why is being honest with another person so powerful, yet hard to do?

Once I mentioned to a friend I’ll call Linda how I feel like I know everyone in town, and most people tend to like me. (Is this because I try my damnedest not to judge folks? Or at least not indicate that I’m judging?) People generally want me around and enjoy my company. But, I said to her, no one really knows me; I’m a happy lighthearted presence that keeps everyone mildly entertained and comfortable.

Sometimes I listen to The Weepies “Nobody knows me at all.”

Wildly, I know I am not alone in feeling misunderstood, it’s a common struggle. (This is a hilarious mindf*ck when you think about it; people collectively feeling alone.)

Linda is always entertaining, and I’ll never forget what she said that night.
 
“Do you have someone you can cry around and someone you can fart around?”

I laughed hard for a minute and then I thought, “well, bar my wonderful partner, not really.”  (I’m also lucky as that’s more than many have.) Plus, no one wants to burden others with either of these lovely bodily functions. And yet, as we’ve established, people need relationships where they don’t feel judged.

In 2020 I began briefly seeing a therapist to deal with multiple issues in my life. Covid was happening and not much else, and my job offers six free sessions a year, so I thought ‘why not?’ The therapist was lovely, but every time we sat down together I felt no different to when I chatted with most people I know. (I’ve seen therapists a few times, and this is a reoccurring theme.) Maybe I should have kept going, but something else happened during that time. I reconnected with a friend in the States. This friend is definitely not a qualified therapist, but here’s what he is: completely disinterested with my Australian life. Not only that, but he’s known me at least twice as long as most people here have. We used to live together in a share house in DC and he’s seen me at my highest and lowest. After my third lackluster therapy session, I looked over my messages with him and felt he brought out a far more authentic me than the therapist had. It was similar to keeping a journal (which is quite useful) but better, as he has intelligent responses.

He pushes me and I try to do the same with him. Since 2020 we talk at least an hour or two per week, often heatedly. We disagree strongly about things, but I never worry that my opinions might push him away or have him put me in a box. While I may never see him in person again, this dialogue brought me a sense of peace, authenticity and trust that I needed. I listen to him too. We say crazy things to each other sometimes, and I’m not afraid to throw out a random thought that’s just come to my head or a nonsense idea that I’d never post on the internet. His feedback, lack of judgement and disconnection from my reality brings me a freedom. Everything feels less myopic.

His friendship was a welcome retreat from the real world of Newcastle. Everyone needs a friend like this; bring back the pen pal!

In December 2021, I was at last on a one way flight to the United States, after two years without seeing my family. Everyone still felt vulnerable and nervous. Omicron was everywhere. I miraculously tested negative at the airport, and the next 24+ hours of flight time was particularly draining, as I attempted to cross borders through the chaotic holiday season without catching Covid. I bathed in sanitizer, changed N95 masks regularly and counted down the hours to see my folks.

Some might imagine a Hallmark style reunion here, that as soon as I saw my family we would all shed tears of joy. The hour-long drive from Nashville to Bowling Green would have been full of positivity and relief, but I’m afraid they’d be mistaken. My parents arrived to pick me up that night at the chilly Kiss and Ride, and within five minutes, sweet, mild mannered, patient Alex lost her SHIT!

I exploded on the ride from the airport back to Kentucky in a way that I don’t think I’ve done ever before in my adult life. Going nuts on a road trip means that no one can get away, so my poor parents had no choice but to hear my rage as I sobbed snottily into my mask and poured out every criticism about everything that was happening during Covid to them, doing so in a way that I would not dare do in front of anyone else. My parents were so stressed out that my Dad missed two different turn offs, and when we finally got back to their house in Kentucky, I felt like the world’s shittiest daughter. I felt awful, but I also knew if there was anyone I could absolutely lose my mind around and still be loved and accepted, it was my tolerant parents.

And now I think back on it and I hear Michelle’s advice and Linda’s quip and I think, “well, of course.”

As my article discusses, mental health problems are skyrocketing. People all over the world are struggling in all kinds of unique ways. Could this be connected to constant news on cancel culture, the bizarre rise and worship of tell-it-like-it-is figures and comment sections full of nasty, hasty judgement? Could the rise of mental health problems be connected to an overarching fear that what we think or say might be wrong, politically incorrect, offensive or worse?

While I’m hesitant to invite everyone I know to come to me regularly for unbiased listening and support, (I ain’t no priest!) I will continue to strive to be tolerant towards all words, ideas and feelings everywhere. If you have felt judged by me, forgive me. It mighta been a bad day.