I am terrible at comforting people. I just want to do something. I want to solve the problem. I want to say the magic words that fix things. I want my love and my care to make it all go away.
Of course, when I am in a bad mood, there’s nothing the people around me can do to soothe me. There’s nothing to fix. Nothing to say. Often I have to let it … fizzle out of me. I will just, run out of energy to feel quite so foul and return to some kind of mean. Sometimes I need to read a book or watch a movie or show that will get me crying. Mostly, I probably just need to eat or drink a Diet Coke, because I’m a cranky fuck when I’m hungry or under-caffeinated.
But it has almost never been the case that someone can say or do something for me that fixes it. I have to deal with it, and even dealing with it often just involves enduring the lows until they fade.
And yet, I still so desperately want my own care to burn through and evaporate the dark clouds of those I love. So much so that I find myself speaking when I should be quiet. Offering council when I need to offer an ear. Trying so hard to be the who or what they need, even though I know I’m nothing of the sort.
People are not problems to be solved, but that’s the only hammer in my tool belt.