Tell your truth

Pain needs a place to go so it doesn’t lodge in your bones and calcify. It needs to be aired out—through a journal, a pillowed scream, a vent to a $200-an-hour therapist—so it can escape through the vents of your psyche. It needs to be told.

Tell it. Tell it. Sing it with wringing hands.

Many pains are hard to tell. They are untellable. You can’t find the words. You can’t muster the guts. You can’t because there is no one who takes you by the hand, looks you in the eye, and asks you, “What’s wrong?” You can't because the game of language was rigged from the start.

But this isn’t a matter of courtesy. It’s your survival we’re talking about. Find the clumsy, hiding words in your gut and wrench them out with pliers if you must. Tell it straight or tell it slant but tell it you must, and with care.