The Healer's Curse
The Healer's Curse
Current mood: embarrassed
Category: Life
Nothing tears me up more than when someone is hurting and I can't do anything about it. It just fucks me up.
An example:
One night, long ago, back when I was in a fraternity, there was a huge party at our frat house. Hundreds of fraternity guys and scantily clad women swarmed around me, and I just sat there on the porch, smoking hooka, soaking up the experience. One girl caught my attention. She seemed frantic - scared, even. For ten minutes I watched her search through the crowd, calling out "Rachel! RACHEL! - Have you seen Rachel? Hey, I'm looking for Rachel - do you know where she is?" People kept making the same lurid suggestion: that she was up in the attic, gettin' it on with one of the brothers. "No, I checked there - I checked EVERYWHERE." I went over to her and asked her what was wrong. She told me she'd been looking for her little sister, Rachel, for over an hour. She wasn't picking up her phone, she wasn't anywhere in the house, and she was worried because she had barely turned 18 and this was her first frat party. I told her I'd help her find her, thinking that she was probably drunk in one of my bro's rooms. I began to ask around. Naturally, being one of the guys, the brothers took me a bit more seriously. I recruited four my bros to help me, and we spread out and began to look for her. I learned from some random guy that he thought he saw a girl leave the party and walk down the street - by herself. In downtown Pomona. In you-don't-walk-around-at-night-by-yourself Pomona.
We began to search down the street. At this point Rachel's sister was almost hysterical. I had gotten about two houses down the block when I heard sobbing, and saw a girl laying on the sidewalk. Her clothes were torn. She was unconscious, and bleeding. I yelled to my bros and we approached her. It was Rachel. She'd been raped.
We carried her back to the party, and got her onto a couch. I brought her a blanket, and sat down on the couch. I yelled to my bros to go find her sister, and she started to come around. I began speaking softly "Hey, hey - you're safe now. No one is going to hurt you…" and I reached toward her. I'll never forget that moment. She slowly opened her eyes and, seeing me, her eyes went wide. She started screaming and kicking, clawing at my face. Not just your normal kind of scream. The kind of scream I can only imagine a cat thrown into a roaring furnace would make. She was absolutely fucking hysterical. I backed off, and she curled up into a ball and began sobbing uncontrollably. The moment I got anywhere near her, or tried talking to her, she'd just start screaming, her eyes wide with fear. There was nothing I could do. Her sister and friends came, and took her up to the safety of our attic. That shit fucked me up for weeks.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about that incident. How all I wanted to do was hug her, tell her it would be ok, heal her wounds… but everything I did only made things worse.
It's fucking hard witnessing someone's world coming apart when you know there's nothing you can do. When there's no way you could possibly understand the depths of someone's pain. When you know they're hurting, and you either know you can't fix it or don't know how.
I've always been good at helping people through dark times. In some ways, I feel like it's what I'm here for. To help. To heal. To give. To love. it rejuvenates me. When I toss aside my own bullshit problems and focus on helping someone… when I see, at long last, that faint smile… I feel truly alive, and totally humbled. In fact, I often feel like through healing I find peace within myself as well.
My parents raised me to give lovingly and freely of myself to anyone in need. Because sometimes giving a fuck makes all the difference. But sometimes love is not enough. And that stings. And being the stubborn silly ass that I am, I often don't know how to cut my losses and walk away… and I wind up causing more harm than good. especially to myself… because I'll do anything for the people I love, even if it kills me.
But some people can't be helped. Some people don't want help.
And I'm beginning have the sneaking suspicion that caring too much is a curse.
Current mood: embarrassed
Category: Life
Nothing tears me up more than when someone is hurting and I can't do anything about it. It just fucks me up.
An example:
One night, long ago, back when I was in a fraternity, there was a huge party at our frat house. Hundreds of fraternity guys and scantily clad women swarmed around me, and I just sat there on the porch, smoking hooka, soaking up the experience. One girl caught my attention. She seemed frantic - scared, even. For ten minutes I watched her search through the crowd, calling out "Rachel! RACHEL! - Have you seen Rachel? Hey, I'm looking for Rachel - do you know where she is?" People kept making the same lurid suggestion: that she was up in the attic, gettin' it on with one of the brothers. "No, I checked there - I checked EVERYWHERE." I went over to her and asked her what was wrong. She told me she'd been looking for her little sister, Rachel, for over an hour. She wasn't picking up her phone, she wasn't anywhere in the house, and she was worried because she had barely turned 18 and this was her first frat party. I told her I'd help her find her, thinking that she was probably drunk in one of my bro's rooms. I began to ask around. Naturally, being one of the guys, the brothers took me a bit more seriously. I recruited four my bros to help me, and we spread out and began to look for her. I learned from some random guy that he thought he saw a girl leave the party and walk down the street - by herself. In downtown Pomona. In you-don't-walk-around-at-night-by-yourself Pomona.
We began to search down the street. At this point Rachel's sister was almost hysterical. I had gotten about two houses down the block when I heard sobbing, and saw a girl laying on the sidewalk. Her clothes were torn. She was unconscious, and bleeding. I yelled to my bros and we approached her. It was Rachel. She'd been raped.
We carried her back to the party, and got her onto a couch. I brought her a blanket, and sat down on the couch. I yelled to my bros to go find her sister, and she started to come around. I began speaking softly "Hey, hey - you're safe now. No one is going to hurt you…" and I reached toward her. I'll never forget that moment. She slowly opened her eyes and, seeing me, her eyes went wide. She started screaming and kicking, clawing at my face. Not just your normal kind of scream. The kind of scream I can only imagine a cat thrown into a roaring furnace would make. She was absolutely fucking hysterical. I backed off, and she curled up into a ball and began sobbing uncontrollably. The moment I got anywhere near her, or tried talking to her, she'd just start screaming, her eyes wide with fear. There was nothing I could do. Her sister and friends came, and took her up to the safety of our attic. That shit fucked me up for weeks.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about that incident. How all I wanted to do was hug her, tell her it would be ok, heal her wounds… but everything I did only made things worse.
It's fucking hard witnessing someone's world coming apart when you know there's nothing you can do. When there's no way you could possibly understand the depths of someone's pain. When you know they're hurting, and you either know you can't fix it or don't know how.
I've always been good at helping people through dark times. In some ways, I feel like it's what I'm here for. To help. To heal. To give. To love. it rejuvenates me. When I toss aside my own bullshit problems and focus on helping someone… when I see, at long last, that faint smile… I feel truly alive, and totally humbled. In fact, I often feel like through healing I find peace within myself as well.
My parents raised me to give lovingly and freely of myself to anyone in need. Because sometimes giving a fuck makes all the difference. But sometimes love is not enough. And that stings. And being the stubborn silly ass that I am, I often don't know how to cut my losses and walk away… and I wind up causing more harm than good. especially to myself… because I'll do anything for the people I love, even if it kills me.
But some people can't be helped. Some people don't want help.
And I'm beginning have the sneaking suspicion that caring too much is a curse.