Mentally Unstable

When did it become a sign of mental illness to want to talk about life?
Back when I was younger, like living at home as a middle school and high school kid kind of younger, I had friends I was so close to that we shared just about everything.  We used to talk for hours of our dreams, our fears, our hopes, our plans.  We laughed, cried, talked seriously, acted crazy, and played together without inhibition.  Those friends were people who, at the time, truly cared about me and my life.  Those friends were people who really wanted to know about me and my struggles and triumphs. 

Life seemed so complicated then, but we were really dealing with a much simpler kind of struggle.  Things were more clear because the hard things were the only things we were trying to fix.  The rest of life came because our parents, teachers, church leaders, etc. were taking care of them in order for things to be good for us.  We just had to deal with our own lives and our own immediate surroundings.
Now that I am, ahem, older...life isn't so simple.  Not only do the trials get more complex, the things  used to take for granted only exist if I create them.  A home to live in, food on my table, clothes to wear: all things I have to provide for myself these days.  That's just life.  However, things are much more complicated, intense, and dare I say, more difficult now, partly because of the needs I must take care of myself and partly because life just tends to get more complicated with this age. 

Yet, in this interesting and struggle-filled time, if an adult like me wants someone to share my thoughts with, someone who will listen to my fears, my hopes, my dreams, my plans, I am considered mentally unstable.  Oh sure, maybe not openly, but if you try to get close enough to someone to share those deep feelings and emotions, people start to believe you are a mess.  Its pretty commone to hear people talk about a person who has some depth to their emotions as "needing a therapist."

Why in the hardest parts of life, do we, as a human race, seem to shut each other away?  Why are we so concerned about out souls bumping into each other?  Why do we think we are so capable and strong on our own?  Why isn't sharing and lifting each other's burdens just an expected part of life? 

Instead we try to survive on our own, ignoring the need to share and help, dismissing the desire to care about each other, and supressing the hope that somone else might actually give us a chance to care about them as we hope to be cared about. 

It seems strangely ironic to me that so many of my generation are bloggers.  No, not because it takes a dedication to writing, and no, not because we are a generation of techies, and no, not because we are interested in a lot of attention, but because blogs are a place where people can write whatever is on their minds and find mental and emotional release, gratis. Cheap therapy.  Who needs a therapist?  All you need is a hundred or so close internet friends who will listen like those friends used to in middle school.  The difference?  Those readers can choose when to listen to your struggles and when to conveniently not read your blog.

Do I sound upset?  I'm not at all.  I just happen to have feelings and ideas that no one else will listen to without calling me crazy.  I just had these thoughts tonight and wondered who might care to listen.  Like a therapist, or like an old-school kind of friend.