I am fascinated by how quickly you can connect with people here. I keep coming back to it and picking at it, trying to understand it. I mean sure we all have one thing in common, but it can’t just be that. Maybe it’s a false feeling, those of you who pop into chat rooms, answer posts and generally engage are going to be the ones who would do that in real life I guess. Extroverts and outgoing and the crazy people.
The connection rate is higher though, it must be, because otherwise we wouldn’t notice and comment on it. From my side it is obvious from the start that I am heady with the excitement of being with so many male survivors, giddy almost. It is a new experience to be amongst so many and it feels like a wealth of endless possibilities.
My head fills with questions and you are egged on to ask them and ask some more. The brilliant thing is they are answered, there is no shortage of opinions, suggestions and that wonderful thing called experience.
The first thing I discover, and let me say it knocks me for six, is how joyful it is when somebody says ‘yeah me too’. Just that. Just the idea that somebody else feels the same as you, not ‘I’ve heard that can be bad’, actually feels it. In the same way. Oh so that’s what validation feels like. Well I will take any amount of that you are dishing out.
You listen in on conversations, everyone throwing things into the middle of the room, consensus on what is common and normal, realisation that you know that, feel that, understand that. Maybe, here you are normal, maybe here you could fit in. Maybe.
A random group of men lose themselves in absurdity and silliness and the laughter echoes around the room and for a flicker of a moment things don’t seem quite as bad as they were this morning. The darkest conversations that are shocking in their truth and reveal and display the honesty of deep wounds that make you realise if he can say that and be heard, then maybe you could say stuff too. Maybe
You scuttle into private chats to giggle at private jokes or to speak together of some pain that you just need to get out of your head. The very act of someone willing to throw their pain and emotions at your feet and hear yours in return seems to fast track trust and affection and it feels like you are talking to that brother who always got you, and oh how you missed him, and oh where have you been all my life.
I want to believe that the chat room has the biggest flumpiest sofas, rugs with worn edges and a fire all embers and ready to toast crumpets on a toasting fork. I want to think the coffee pot is always fresh on and that the room smells of love and kindness.
I mean sure it’s pixels and a plain white screen but a boy can dream, and if he can dream it can be anything he fucking needs it to be.
I have been here 14 days now. Two weeks of my life spent talking to virtual strangers in a virtual world and I am the better for it. I am more me because of it. I am without a shadow of a doubt safer because of it. I have never felt so welcomed, I have never experienced so much kindness and concern.
There are people who have just fallen into step beside me and walked with me, followed me out of rooms to ensure I am ok, followed me back into rooms to make sure I stay ok. Helped me and guided me, corrected me when I clearly got it wrong and reprimanded, well it has to be said, with love, which was a new experience.
Some of them I have left and gone and read their stories and cried at what they have endured. I have no idea how they find time and space for such compassion and kindness that they show me.
There are people here who have no idea what they do for the likes of me. I can walk to my desk at 3am with a blanket around me because the air is chilly and I have been woken by a nightmare and I daren’t risk going back to sleep in case I just find myself back there. I logon and slip into the room and there is mayhem, jokes and chaos, people coming and going, links and videos being splattered over the screen, little digs and calling out and quiet little corners of chatting and jokes always jokes.
Well i’m not alone anymore and I’m not sure … but I don’t think we are in Kansas anymore.