“I feel sad for him.”
The words, logically speaking, make sense. Tragically flawed, destined to wallow in unhappiness and guilt.
Yet I cannot bring myself to share in this thought. I tell her I can’t. I won’t.
Sadness doesn’t necessitate obligation or connection, she says. One can feel sad without being a proponent of the action.
Typically, yes, she’s right. But not in this case. Not with him. I can’t bring myself to feel sad. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
The actions that brought him here, to this place, alone and excluded, may have well been propagated by some psychosis, some mental delirium, illness or delusion. He may have not ever known true happiness. He may have once and, from this point onward, never see that again.
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What I need to ask myself is the following:
Do I care? Does it matter how he got there? Can I put aside the abuse, the heartache and the pain? Can I disassociate these emotional and mental barriers with an act of sadness? Can I be sad yet removed?
I say no. My sadness is meant for someone else.
I fear that the chance for a happy life is slipping away. Don’t give up hope. You can escape this. Don’t go down that path, his path, the path without meaningful relationships, genuine love and respect. You are better than that. You are better than the demons. The voices.
You can beat them.
I love you so very much.