This person hurt me.
I'm broken.
Nobody respects me.
Nobody loves me.
Traffic....wait, what?
The person in front of me.
The person behind me.
I haven't slept.
Why, oh why, do bad things happen to good people?
Let's start from the end. The reality is, the people I know, who chronicle every negative in their lives on social media, are not the people I would classify as good people. They are malicious to others, very often playing friends against each other. Sometimes even there to be the shoulder to cry on, when they in fact are the reason someone is crying. They hurt with ease, but like all bullies, can not handle the slightest pain. In the political world, they'd be deemed snowflakes, but in the real world, they lack the brilliant unique features all snowflakes hold. These people speak of karma, never realizing the irony.
As someone who has been vocal about relationships on social media in the past, I realize it helps no one and hurts many. It puts public blame and in many cases shame on the person who has moved on and it pits friends against each other. The amount of information, even the most cryptic, tears at people, who may or may not have been implicated. It only extends the pain of the poster and false sympathy we receive makes the sadness feel almost as rewarding as the pleasure we once missed. We find ourselves reverting to our childhood, unable to differentiate from good attention and bad, simply reveling in the fact there is some being paid, and it's to us.
Nobody is broken. Unless one has experienced failure in which they hold no responsibility, no accountability and are taken by complete surprise, they are simply experience a severe and unexpected turn. Unless health is in jeopardy, it's best to move on, or maybe, step back. See if one can figure it all out. A post about being broken receives a strange reaction. "What's wrong?" What's wrong, is what we say when a child is crying, someone looks sad or maybe is not themselves. Someone who is broken, needs a level of care, social media can not convey. Someone who is broken needs time, patience, maybe even professional help. Words matter. If you fear someone is broken, a public inquiry is not helping, but also realize, that is probably all they were hoping for in the first place; an invitation to complain openly.
Very few people command respect or love. It's something that is earned. Gained and lost over our lives, sometimes lost and gained again. Very rarely is someone not loved or respected. They are simply not loved and respected by those they wish would do so unconditionally. Unconditional love comes from either a wonderful natural event or a deep introspective journey. It doesn't happen because one asks for it.
Then there are the people who complain about every little thing and when something really, truly awful happens, they receive the same tone, the same impact and the same words to convey interest and sympathy. The death of a loved one receives the same understanding and empathy as the three hours of sleep or the forty minutes in traffic. Another lesson I learned while complaining of my own insomnia. When you complain every night about being wronged on a message board, in line at Starbucks or the DMV and then experience tragedy, you see the same people who were "there for you" when soccer mom took an extra forty-five seconds to decide on skim or almond milk in her latte, posting their condolences. Same words. Same tone. Same power. Your cat's life was no more important to them than your bumper to bumper experience last Tuesday. Remember that, when you tell someone else that they were your rock.
Some may ask why I'm writing such a pretentious, self-righteous blog, when my life is no better, no more important and no more interesting than anyone else's. That is why. Because in the past two years, I've literally talked someone off a ledge and when they asked me why I cared and how I knew, I explained, that they didn't like any of the comments showing support. Something they did almost immediately in times of false need. That person no longer talks to me anymore. Bigger problems were present, but I'll give up that friendship knowing they're OK. I'm also writing, because maybe in my own way, I'm posting about myself....not posting. It's been one of the hardest stretches of my life and I can count my rocks on one hand. They are not who I expected them to be. One out of the blue, one from the past, one quiet, but always present, one, someone I've never met and another who doesn't even know they have made more difference than anyone. She'll know when she's older.
Oh yeah and my cat, Swag. Who depends on me. I'd like to pretend it's unconditionally, but the Temptation Treats company probably should get most of the credit.
I'm broken.
Nobody respects me.
Nobody loves me.
Traffic....wait, what?
The person in front of me.
The person behind me.
I haven't slept.
Why, oh why, do bad things happen to good people?
Let's start from the end. The reality is, the people I know, who chronicle every negative in their lives on social media, are not the people I would classify as good people. They are malicious to others, very often playing friends against each other. Sometimes even there to be the shoulder to cry on, when they in fact are the reason someone is crying. They hurt with ease, but like all bullies, can not handle the slightest pain. In the political world, they'd be deemed snowflakes, but in the real world, they lack the brilliant unique features all snowflakes hold. These people speak of karma, never realizing the irony.
As someone who has been vocal about relationships on social media in the past, I realize it helps no one and hurts many. It puts public blame and in many cases shame on the person who has moved on and it pits friends against each other. The amount of information, even the most cryptic, tears at people, who may or may not have been implicated. It only extends the pain of the poster and false sympathy we receive makes the sadness feel almost as rewarding as the pleasure we once missed. We find ourselves reverting to our childhood, unable to differentiate from good attention and bad, simply reveling in the fact there is some being paid, and it's to us.
Nobody is broken. Unless one has experienced failure in which they hold no responsibility, no accountability and are taken by complete surprise, they are simply experience a severe and unexpected turn. Unless health is in jeopardy, it's best to move on, or maybe, step back. See if one can figure it all out. A post about being broken receives a strange reaction. "What's wrong?" What's wrong, is what we say when a child is crying, someone looks sad or maybe is not themselves. Someone who is broken, needs a level of care, social media can not convey. Someone who is broken needs time, patience, maybe even professional help. Words matter. If you fear someone is broken, a public inquiry is not helping, but also realize, that is probably all they were hoping for in the first place; an invitation to complain openly.
Very few people command respect or love. It's something that is earned. Gained and lost over our lives, sometimes lost and gained again. Very rarely is someone not loved or respected. They are simply not loved and respected by those they wish would do so unconditionally. Unconditional love comes from either a wonderful natural event or a deep introspective journey. It doesn't happen because one asks for it.
Then there are the people who complain about every little thing and when something really, truly awful happens, they receive the same tone, the same impact and the same words to convey interest and sympathy. The death of a loved one receives the same understanding and empathy as the three hours of sleep or the forty minutes in traffic. Another lesson I learned while complaining of my own insomnia. When you complain every night about being wronged on a message board, in line at Starbucks or the DMV and then experience tragedy, you see the same people who were "there for you" when soccer mom took an extra forty-five seconds to decide on skim or almond milk in her latte, posting their condolences. Same words. Same tone. Same power. Your cat's life was no more important to them than your bumper to bumper experience last Tuesday. Remember that, when you tell someone else that they were your rock.
Some may ask why I'm writing such a pretentious, self-righteous blog, when my life is no better, no more important and no more interesting than anyone else's. That is why. Because in the past two years, I've literally talked someone off a ledge and when they asked me why I cared and how I knew, I explained, that they didn't like any of the comments showing support. Something they did almost immediately in times of false need. That person no longer talks to me anymore. Bigger problems were present, but I'll give up that friendship knowing they're OK. I'm also writing, because maybe in my own way, I'm posting about myself....not posting. It's been one of the hardest stretches of my life and I can count my rocks on one hand. They are not who I expected them to be. One out of the blue, one from the past, one quiet, but always present, one, someone I've never met and another who doesn't even know they have made more difference than anyone. She'll know when she's older.
Oh yeah and my cat, Swag. Who depends on me. I'd like to pretend it's unconditionally, but the Temptation Treats company probably should get most of the credit.
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