Psyche hurts, or psyche the unknown makes us hurt. Something we like to hide, not admit existing fully is out in the open especially when it is denied.

How we think we have to be careful when we think we get easily damaged mentally and what kind of contradiction there is as what the world is like is extremely damaging on multiple layers which we may not even see, but we have gone against the things that damage us not to be easily damaged. What can damage be and is it non-fixable or dot damaged people become disposable? Damage is unavoidable. We do not live without pain and hurt but it has to talked about and be seen as organic part of being a human.
We can possibly all agree that human psyche is a scary place, if you can call it a place as it is a very unknown spot inside of us, distant to many and as such something private, sealed and dangerous to be opened. The not knowing much about human mind and how it works is a stepping stone in contemporary society still as we think we know when we have no respect for the brain, not even brain of our own. This is a serious case of undervaluing human intellect and consciousness as we quite lightly toss the sensitive blob, delicate part of ourselves, aside as minor issue which is too heavy yet too sensitive, pathetic and tender to recognize. We may be tempted to psychologise and diagnose without required knowledge, with our bias in use, with our shallow info and understanding. To understand what it takes to know anybody or yourself is a triumph itself. Unbelievable as it may sound knowing yourself is a task most demanding of all, not to speak of knowing someone else. What does it mean to know yourself then or learn to know what you are about, why you are what you are, what you do and want, why those things you do qualify, define you or don’t. Demand for accuracy, correctness and absolute knowing what you want in life is a bizarre demand when one reflects the issue of what person can be with what one is expected to be.
 Somebody you follow is not a person to you.
Psyche is there out in the open, if you fail to see do you think you have a problem?

A quiet person who is partly invisible partly an impenetrable a forbidden place (has to be shaken, has to be something wrong with that person, so strange almost scary), uninteresting likely to be forgotten, impossible to invade

That person who exists for some reason but why? Why is she like that, nobody asked. She is clearly different: how to pull something out of that mouth? How to torment that mind so it starts to do and process something we understand and enjoy? That person who does not say anything, cannot, has not got anything interesting to say, say those who define what is interesting, who talk constantly themselves, about themselves. To find out and understand, what and what then? Decide whether to like or not, whether to let belong or not? Accepting is difficult, to think one’s head is not the only head there is, that we are not one consciousness, one right kind of form nor shape.

What is sick where illness does not show? What is wrong there where nothing is wrong? What is there where it is not accepted to be what I feel?

For many reasons. First I thought I have nothing inside of me. I felt terrible all the time. I tried to smile. It felt phony. I refused to believe I was nothing although the messages I have been given all my life were exactly that and I just didn’t understand why. It was no wonder I felt so awful and empty and eventually found out I had been depressed for a very long time. That was me some time ago.

Quiet is something puzzling to me for this reason, a very personal reason, an ongoing accusation which is against the quiet that I have felt is interesting because it is so belittling. Quiet is someone not participating, someone with a flaw or lack, something is wrong, something is missing when we are quiet, in all quiet, in silence like there is and was nothing there to say, but there is a demand to constant talk.
For various reasons quiet is interesting, for our need to hide away and step over, deny quiet existence as pathetic and ridiculous. How we build on noise, expect noise and sound to have all the meaning we need and have, noise that equals content and something is given into the world with sound, with words, with talk that never stops.