There are two basic reasons we feel guilt after hurting someone’s feelings:
1) We care. Ya know. Decent human being shit.
2) Their rejection reflects poorly upon us — i.e. our ego becomes so mortally wounded, we reject them first. This is grade A bitch baby behavior, and I check myself for it constantly.
I become absorbed in the emotions of others. Not much a busybody (I’ll leave that to my mother) more of an empath. I hear someone speak, listen to their feelings, and it’s as if I can feel them. Afterward, I carry a piece of them with me. This can be a purely magical, connected human experience.
But, if I get caught in anothers mental illness loop, it can be unnerving as hell.
Not because I don’t care. Never because I don’t care. And not because I care “ too much” either. That’s a bullshit concept for those obsessed with altruism. It’s because — while I barely understand my brand of Crazy™ — I’ll attempt to take on theirs like it’s mine. I understand through identification. But through that identification, I risk losing pieces of my own.
Because who am I without other people, really? If a bitch falls in the woods with no one around to pick her ass up, did she ever really fall at all?
Yes. Doubtlessly. Now, she’s alone on a forest trail with a snapped ankle, waiting for death or rescue-whichever comes first.
Metaphors aside, navigating the feelings of others while considering mine is the toughest high-wire act. I don’t want anyone to slip, but I’m not here to break their fall. These words feel fundamentally wrong as I type them, but standing up for myself commonly does.
I know who I am. My sense of self is iron clad. Who I am is someone who comprehends the world through compassion. Someone who doesn’t believe in giving too many fucks, but occasionally runs out. I only love at one speed, at one volume, and I’m never more out of my element than when it becomes evident I should set boundaries.
Because boundaries are meant to keep people apart, when all I want is to be closer to everyone. To understand fucking everyone. To be one with the damned universe.
That isn’t “too much”…right?
In the end, it boils down to this: I can’t be everyone’s best friend, but I want to be. Or, bare minimum? I want to want to be. Maybe I am one of those assholes obsessed with altruism? Maybe I’m bullet point number two on my own damn list?
Or maybe — I just don’t want anyone to have a bad day.
Originally published at https://tragicsandwi.ch.
