Note: I am writing this the evening of Thursday after something that happened that made my heart hurt. As I had already posted a post for Thoughtful Thursday that morning, I decided to hold this one in the Outbox until today (5/22)…the last day of our school year.
Both posts need to stand on their own for different reasons. I try to be somewhat upbeat (although the “Thoughtful” posts have turned into rants of late), but, every once in a while, something will happen that will get me down. Not sarcastic. Not complaining or biting or bitter. Just down.
As in sucker punched.
I have a lot of anger about something that happened, not to me, but within what I consider one component of my sphere. Because of the delicacy of the details involved, I have to remain somewhat cryptic.
There are things that happen, things people do, that seem needlessly harmful. There are victims. There are evildoers. Then, there are the “paparazzi,” and by the paps, I don’t even necessarily mean people who disguise themselves as photojournalists for tabloid rags. I mean people who receive pleasure and titillation from horrible things happening to people, as a result of other people. Maybe a better analogy would be the bird of prey feasting on the carcass of carrion (the victim).
I was informed of something horrific by someone today who seemed to enjoy spreading the story.
The words that were said, when put together, made me hurt to the point that it hurt to breathe.
I was sucker punched.
Even now, hours later, that ill feeling remains.
And, horrifically, I’m not sure what I’m more bothered by…what was actually said…or the enjoyment that the teller of the story derived from telling it…from delivering that shock value.
I feel angry at us, as a society, that we encourage that joy at that delivery of news so horrific it cannot even be imagined. I’m as guilty as the next person of listening to my morning dose of celebrity gossip. But gossip, slander, malicious whispers mixed with chortles of inappropriate glee, for no reason than to destroy others, makes me ill.
I’m angry at people who spread it. And the ones who first put out the story because they really shouldn’t have and they really REALLY should have known better. They were in the position to keep this from coming to light to be raked over the coals publicly, and they chose to ignore ethics and morality and make things worse.
And I’m disappointed in myself. Because I don’t have within me the wherewithal to stop it. To stop the spreading of a story really too horrible to be spread. To stop people from talking about it (not with expressions of solemnity, but with ones of relish, as if they are savoring every detail they put out there).
A few years ago, I attended a conference and sobbed throughout the keynote speech (I tend to be a crier). The keynote speaker spoke of a child who had once asked him where he went when the world hurt too much.
Today, for many reasons, that speech and those haunting words resonate within me.
Today…to me…the world hurts. And I’m in search of a band-aid to make it all better.
Muffin’s smile goes a long way toward healing that hurt. Today, after seeing him this afternoon, all I wanted to do was give him a huge hug.
Here’s to a better tomorrow!