notebook philosophising #2: on pain and failing to communicate it

A response to the anonymous internet being who thought a piece of my personal writing well-crafted, but fundamentally and failingly incoherent.

I’m glad you liked the way my piece was written, I suppose, but if you’re asking why it didn’t make sense I think it mustn’t have made the point I wanted it to. Pain is in some very meaningful ways non-communicable, really, and these horrible moments that litter our lives can’t always be wrestled inside the suitcase of conventional narrative communication that facilitates easy understanding. The past that continues to haunt haunts because it has some kind of ghostly presence in the present, and so stories that transmit the most emotional meaning about personal painful matters do so in the least accessible ways, or should, because they refuse to obey the traditional linear temporal orientation of narrative, because it just doesn’t fit the reality of sitting up in bed at 10pm crying at something from a 1998 memory that should theoretically be buried under the psychological strata of the last decade and a half.

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