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previouslynebraskan · 4 years ago

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Why humans are assholes

Hi, my pen name is Gwendolyn, and welcome to my TED talk on empathy

*side note, I suck at writing, and my train of thought is derailed frequently. So buckle up, and I’ll be surprised if you make it with me to the end, as we don’t know organization.

First off, I’ll disclaim something terrible about myself. I’m a Christian. Even worse. I’m a rosary rattler. A Catholic! Oh and you thought it couldn’t get worse? I’m not even a good one. God and I are only on speaking terms when I need him (which is pretty frequent, but not the point). Church feels like an obligation most weeks, and just because I know the rules and believe in the rules, doesn’t mean that I follow them.

Alrighty! Terrible things out of the way. Let’s begin. Humans are assholes. Most people, especially the population of Tumblr, will agree with me. Between human atrocities, selfishness, and down right lack of care, humans are just assholes. I am too. I am human. Ask my siblings. Like any good older sister, I wanted nothing to do with my siblings, and when forced to see them at school, I was unprecedently mean to them. Ask my husband. I am ridiculously selfish, and only do things when it suits me. And yet, there is an entire history of the human race, with worse individuals than myself. And a lot of people might see that, and think, cool, I feel better about myself, because I’m not Hitler. I feel better about myself because I wasn’t a member of the KKK. Well, personally, I don’t. The next disclaimer I am going to make about myself, I’m a self-diagnosed empath. I’ve never been to a therapist. I don’t currently have plans to either, but I’ll let God decide that path later. The reason I bring this up, and the reason I mentioned my religion at the beginning, is because I truly believe that if not for my first disclaimer, my second might not exist.

I am a crier. And I get annoyed at criers. But I don’t cry at reasonable things. No. I cry at other people’s feelings. Let’s bastardize the golden rule real quick. For those who are unaware, “Treat others how you want to be treated.” Now, I’m sure many people recall going through a phase where they could translate that in their still learning brains to “I can treat people however I want because I wouldn’t care if they were that way to me.” Now back to the golden rule. The bastardization is, put yourself in someone else’s shoes. How many of us got told this by their parents at a young age after not playing nicely with another kid? Apparently, God took it upon Himself to write that verse on my heart. And it went something like this: I cried when my mother told me that her grandmother (whom I had only met twice and had no actual recollection of) died. I was inconsolable when my grandfather died. So much so that even now, almost fifteen years later, it still stops me in my tracks, my heart hurts so much. I cried when Michael Jackson died. I didn’t really even like his music that much. I’ve cried at almost every movie I’ve ever seen. My sister’s speech at my wedding included the moment where she had to chaperone me on a date with my then boyfriend, and we went to Frozen. Now yes, I cried at the scene when her parents die in the shipwreck. But it gets worse. Elsa is out there, just ran away, no plans for shelter yet apparently, and she begins to break out into song. At first I’m fine. But then I can feel my heart, as she sings, “well now they know.” I start bawling my eyes out. And all I can give in response to my sister’s quizzical look of “What the fuck is wrong with you???” (Yes I cursed, I told you, not one of the good ones. Fuck off), was: “She’s just so happy!” I wouldn’t necessarily say I was sad at that time. But I could feel the relase that an animated character was expressing on the big screen. I could feel the weight come off of her shoulders, and I cried. I mourned for what she went through, but shed tears of joy that she had found peace. Tonight. I was watching Facebook videos instead of taking care of my nightly routine of getting ready for bed. And a Mengele twin told her story of survival. When she mentioned looking around for her father and older sisters, I felt that. When she said she could still see her mother’s outstreched arms, I could see that. When she mentioned the panic of trying to save her sister years after liberation, trying to find records of what was done to them, her rage and anger. And then her forgiveness. Do you know how strong someone has to be in order to forgive? To let go of the pain in your heart, knowing you’ll never get revenge. You’ll never get an answer. And you just let it go? That strength is super human. This week, as we pass the 20th anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11, my hometown did a wonderful commemoration. I cried. My aunt gave me a look of disgust because I was crying, again. I cried not only for those who lost their lives, but for their families who would never be whole, for the heroes who stepped up, then and now. I am a proud Navy wife. My husband is out sacrificing his time, so that I don’t have to. And so that I can worship my stupid religion that I cling to, so I can walk around saying inappropriate words and wear not enough clothing. But he made that choice. There are a lot who didn’t. Earlier this week, someone posted the transcription of the phone call of flight 93. The moment that he said that the passengers wanted to sacrifice their lives, for the sake of our country, I hurt. And then he asked the person on the other end of the line to pray. Another video this week, an ex soldier, who fought early on in Afghanistan was telling a story about one of his soldiers. They were getting ready for a raid that would likely kill them. His soldier asks, I know we signed up to fight, but why are we doing this? The man’s response was, for the people up in that tower who didn’t. He goes on to explain the story of a young mother. Two kids. Went to work like any other day, and her last attempt at human decency was to hold her skirt down as she jumped out of the burning tower, so the people below couldn’t see up her skirt.

Crpl. Page was a Marine from my state who just passed away. He was two years younger than me. I never knew him. But I grieve for his family and friends.

See the worst part about being an empath in a world where human’s are assholes, is there’s never a shortage of people’s feelings to feel. I’ve been told that you can experience an emotion so strongly that your body’s only reaction to the volume of what it feels is to cry. And that resonates with me. I feel joy to such an extreme when I’m with my family, celebrating time together. I feel the sorrow of people missing loved ones, and their hearts breaking. And there are times when I wonder if it’s a gift? Or if it’s a curse. It’s a gift to be able to go to someone and say, I can feel for you and your situation. I don’t feel sorry for you. I feel your pain as though it were my own. But it’s a curse to feel the attrocities of humanity and just sit and wonder why it had to happen. Why it had to come to this. I got told I was crying for attention. I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. Supposedly, behavioral psychology could “fix me” if I wanted it. I could be trained to control my emotions, and process them in a way that wasn’t so consuming. It would definetly help my self diagnosed depression. But let’s posit that God made me this way for a reason. He gave me this gift with a purpose in mind. What then? The problem is, I don’t know how to effectively use it without letting it ruin my life. I can never be a therapist, because I would be able to take on the feelings of my clients. And while I do very much believe in tough love, I also belive that if you just have the right push in the right direction, great changes can be made. Would the Holocaust have happened if Hitler had better relationship with his mother? (this is a personal piece, I am reflecting on history classes I haven’t taken since high school. I’m not fact checking this. Don’t at me.) Would Columine have taken place if those kids had been in a better place mentally?

You know what the awful thing is...? Look at all of these events. Look at all of these heart wrenching dates in history. And then look what came out of them. Out of 9/11 came one of the most unified fronts America has had in a long time. Out of World War II came men of valor. A chemical reaction occurs when you take an object, and force it to experience a high degree of change. And that is what gives us assholes grit. Our experiences make us tougher, and make us better. And maybe less of a crybaby in my case. Or more of a cyborg who doesn’t experience emotion for fear of being consumed by them.

Ramble is over. For those of you who persisted and tried to keep up, good job and I’m sorry. For those who didn’t, don’t worry, I wouldn’t blame you.

Some effort is better than none at all, and if all you are capable of is existing today, then I hope you do, and I know you will do it beautifully.

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