I was asked to rate my mental health on a scale right now. There are parts of my life that make me smile endlessly. There are parts of my life that make me cry unconsolably. There are all kinds of parts in the middle. The truth is all of it. I think I've talked about this in the question, "How are you?"

I want to be real. All the time, I want to be real. It hurts to not be real. By talking about the crappy stuff, I'm being real. When I talk about the great stuff, it's authentic too. None of it is the whole picture, the whole me.

That's the crux of it. I want to be seen wholly and not just in pieces. I'm looking for the impossible. The only person who can know all of me is me. I am the only one who has all of my story. And everyone else only gets bits and pieces of it. Some more than others, but still only pieces. This is why it hurts so much to lose the people who have known us the longest - family, lifelong friends, even those short term friends who get us at that moment in time. It hurts us to stop being seen and understood by that person who held our stories.

Being seen and understood is such a relief for me. I want to give this to the world. It's vulnerable, but the most rewarding part for me of this human condition. And I genuinely love seeing what is the most rewarding part for other people.