@JoodleReads I was hesitant on saying this, but you kind of touched a sore subject for me. It truly makes me sad and furious (not at you, the subject) whenever I hear that one has no right to speak of something or try to understand and help unless they’ve experienced it (to the degree of pain and/or sickness). If we don’t, won’t, or can’t validate the ones who genuinely want to do good, help out, or be there because they care just because they’ve never seen the same pain through the same eyes, then again, what’s the point? If that’s the only way we listen, bond, or accept help from eachother, then are we doomed to create rooms of torture of which all must enter, so that we may be unified under the same pain?
…I know this sound really heavy, but it just hurts me to my core. Because I do care, and I do feel it, and I genuinely with every fiber in my being want to help. Even though I have no proof. Even though I have no scars. All I have is my will, my dream, my empathy, and my hope, to which I would give unconditionally. And to which I use to try my d—ndest to put myself in the others place, so that I can better ask the question “what would I do if it were me?”
I know this world is full of others who feel the same as I do, who want to help, defend, and bond no matter what kind of past they have, good or bad, and it’s that same kind of warm, dependent, curing light that I know will unite us and because equal in our inequalities, and help one another.
So it hurts me when I hear that there’s a price for sympathy, and acceptance. And that price is pain/suffering
