Guilt is not sympathy.

Earlier this year, I got a request from violence unsilenced to do a post for their survivors video. I didn't respond. For several reasons. One of them is that I don't want my face on the video. Yes, there were more anonymous options I could have pursued. But, I didn't. I also just still feel like I don't "belong" to that community. I am fine. I don't have flashbacks or any real residual problems. Yes, I hate being touched. Yes, I have issues with intimacy and trust. But, not TERRIBLE issues. I function. I feel fine almost all of the time. I told my story because it felt like the right thing for me to do to move on. And it was. I told the story because I wanted 16 year old me to read it and say, fuck. That wasn't right. And to do something about it. I didn't really do it for 30 year old me.

I don't comment on the site. Ever. Because I feel like "I am so glad you posted here, you are so brave and loved" is just contrite. Of course those women (and men) are all of those things. And I never know the right thing to say.

As I was reading today's post, I was texting with Big Jed. I was reading it thinking about loss and tragedy and how I really have not had a whole lot of either in my life. Yes, there are those years, those incidents, those times that happened to me, but I don't know what loss is. I have never lost anyone I truly, truly loved. Big Jed's babies are the closest I can come and they were just an idea. My heart was broken more for her than for them, if that makes sense. I didn't know them like she did. I only knew the image of them in my head, the idea of them, their story that was unfolding. Kobi was the biggest lost I have ever faced personally.

So, I read these stories thinking these things week after week.

Big Jed and I talk almost everyday. We haven't talked for a week or so because she was out of town and my job hates me. Well, loves me. Either way, it was a 65 hour problem last week.

During our texting she brings up that a coworker and friend of her and Krackle's died last week. Then she tells me that this woman was 7 1/2 months pregnant and that the baby was lost too.

I don't know this woman, I am not telling her story or the story of her death, although I am not sure a greater tragedy could befall someone. 

I find myself once again, with my best friends in the whole world, stuck in this awkward state of sympathy. All I want, all I ever want in these situations, is to make it better. To fix it. To make them laugh like in the movies where they forget all their troubles.

And I can't. I know I can't. But, I am not good at sympathy. I say all the wrong things. I awkwardly pat people on the shoulder. I say, "you are in my thoughts" because saying you are in my prayers would be a lie. And it feels wrong to lie to someone at a time like this. I hug and I listen and I show up with food, because I do food. I can do food. 

But, it all feels contrite. It always has. It's not that I don't care. Because I do. I care so much. To see someone I love in pain is heart breaking. But, the bottom line is...I don't understand. I just don't. I don't know what that feels like. I feel guilty, so I say these things. I feel guilty that they feel this way and I don't.

I realize that none of these moments are about me. And please do not think I am making them about me. And believe me when I tell you, I am so grateful that I don't understand because it means I have never lost anyone that means THAT much to me.

I just always want to say to people, no bullshit, how do I help? I have no kind words for you. I suck at those. I am better at action. I will cook for you, clean your house, wash your hair, hold your hand, drive you anywhere you want to go. I will BE THERE. But, I will say all the wrong things. Because the right things are fake coming out of my mouth. Not because I don't mean them. Because they are just not me...just not things I would say. 

I will make dead asian baby jokes at the funeral home. It's just who I am. I am the girl to bring in when you want to laugh in spite of it. I am the girl you bring in when you can't cry and you need to drink and watch terrible reality TV and judge everyone. I am not the girl you bring in when you want sympathy. Not because I don't genuinely feel bad. Not because I don't want to understand. I just don't. And I really, really hate contrite.

And that makes me feel like a horrible person.