I feel like I have this internal conversation with myself. I think, ‘DiAnre, you share so much about yourself on certain places and with others’. It’s mainly because most of what I tell people and what I publish is my definition of ‘white noise’.
Let’s take the example of a class lecture. Depending on the class, and the instruction there’s a 50/50 chance you’re either listening or you’re not. There’s also a point in time where both sides tune out completely or you reach a point in the lecture where everything your professor says is ‘white noise’: you’re actively listening to what your professor is saying, but you’re not retaining it, and most likely, a fraction of what you’ve heard has been lost. That’s what happens when I talk about my life or personal things, or even normal things with others, with few exceptions. When I talk to people, they’re actively listening in that moment, but inwardly sort of turn off their ears and stop listening due to disinterest, something else has caught their attention, or they’ve got something to tell that happens to fit the conversation topic. When I write things on here and my blog, it is an electronic form of ‘white noise’. I know people are reading it, but when they read it they aren’t retaining anything enough to give a shit.
‘So DiAnre, why don’t you make people listen to you?’: Because after awhile, I kind of realized it’s nothing personal. When I talk to people, 9 times out of 10 says they’re going through something of their own. They’ve got exams, they’re still getting adjusted in school, they’re going through family problems, they’re getting over traumatic things. There’s so much going on in the human mind. Plus, the outlets I use always have a wide percentage of people who think ‘well, no matter what she says, I’ve experienced better/worse’ or ‘I could be reading something better’ or ‘who gives a shit?’ I mean. . . .we all do it. We’ve seen people write posts about themselves, stare at it and say, ‘this person has lost touch with all reality and belongs somewhere that includes padded rooms and nice white bottles with medication in them’ or ‘I could be reading a recipe on Pinterest’, but it’s that percentage that makes me so damn comfortable. My life is practically made of white noise, but a lot of the time I have friends that have their own problems, so I know that most of what I’m saying is going to be hitting a brick wall and they’re only going to care momentarily because they know I’ve been holding it (few exceptions, of course), but most of my friends, I don’t feel comfortable telling them because it’s something else for them to worry about on top of their everyday stress, no matter how small, so I talk about it through things like my blog and my dA journal because those are two outlets where I KNOW it’s pure white noise. Now, pure white noise is when you know people are passively looking at what you’ve written. At least with normal white noise, they can get some stuff out of it. PURE white noise is when they dismiss it because I’m not PewdiePie from YouTube. I’m not a form of major entertainment and I’m some 18 year old girl COMPLAINING about something that’s bothering me. It’s more fact than delusion, I couldn’t really make it up if I wanted to.
Even now, someone has reached the 5th sentence of this article and thought ‘I could be doing something else, my interest is lost. . .I wonder what’s for dinner. . .’ or something of that fashion. I admit, I should give leeway to those who are taking in and caring about both my opinion and myself. I appreciate those few. . .which I assumed was only one, but now is two (no rhyme intended). I think I have this mentality because I know how little an impact my words truly have on both the interwebs and in life. I haven’t made a big enough impression to really feel that there’s someone on this big blue planet besides my mother (Alex, you’re an exception) that thinks I’m the coolest thing since Gardettos. I don’t have the charisma, nor the intelligence, nor the bronze to really sit down and say I’m popular or spunky or innovative enough to breach the conscience mind of another. I like to play a pretend game with myself, thinking I’m some awesome cool person, but I’m no more interesting than the bags of iceburg lettuce my mom buys at the market. This isn’t a personal bash, it’s more of facts being presented and understanding being given. This blog is a wonderful example. Out of trillions of people there are two loyal readers of this blog. They’re absolutely beautiful people that voluntarily give their time to read my ramble: proof