I had a really enlightning psychiatry lecture today. The professor described some of her patients, including all the difficulties they had encountered prior to needing psychiatric help. When the whole thing ended, the entire class remained seated at their desks, staring at her, and had to be reminded to leave.
I won't go into details, let's just say the whole thing got me thinking. It's obvious none of us are always happy and content, and we have our own share of problems and we want to vent and tell people about it and complain and seek help. And we somehow take it for granted that people will listen and try to help and be understanding. And there's nothing wrong with that.
But there are people out there, and from my experience in just one day, there's a lot of them, who can't complain. Their families and "loved ones", the very people who should be helping them, are the ones causing them pain, abusing them and making them do horrendous things because they know no other way.
People are scarred for life, unable to lead a normal life with another human being and even if they succeed in seemingly getting their life in order, it is often only a cover. Without even knowing it, their behaviour ruins the relationships in their new families because it is the only behaviour that allows them to live with themselves.
So, am I allowed to complain about my problems? Am I allowed to whine becasue I didn't get the exchange I wanted? Because my workload is killing me? Because people promise to do something and back out when it's too late? Does it make me selfish and spoiled? Or does it make me a normal person who has been lucky enough to see the darker sides of human race only through the stories of the unfortunate ones?