There’s not much value in going back into something that I follow or have read on the internet for the purpose of finding the humor in their work. Some of these people are writing things that are deeply personal or of such a serious nature that I would feel stupid even thinking about changing their words. In some cases, I know that one blog I follow is by young lady who writes such raw emotional responses to her dying that the only thing I can think to do is continue reading, learning as much from her about her life as possible before she can’t write anymore.
I guess there is always someone who will be able to find the humor, but that’s just not me. I absorb their pain, unfortunately at times making it part of my own. Any time I see an article about a young girl being hurt in any manner, it just rips me apart. For better or worse they become a part of my life through people’s words. My ability, or need, to feel empathy overrides what might be a better method of dealing with society’s woes. Or maybe it’s just those paternal feelings that need an outlet?
My mother got up in arms because an 80 year old man with Facebook access posted something about me over the weekend. He made a comment about hoping my medical / legal situation was being handled. This wasn’t public knowledge to many of the people who might also have access to that page. It was deleted 16 hours later and I had someone change the security settings to not allow anyone to post anything. But it felt like such an invasion of my privacy. I know an older person sometimes doesn’t think about the reach these things have, but the damage was done. My mother was forced to deal with people asking questions she isn’t ready to handle.
It wasn’t about me any longer, but her not wanting the world to know there had been an issue to begin with. My mom had made it known long ago that she did not approve of my having asked the ex’s parents for help. That family stuff was to remain hidden from view. The problem for me was that they were my family as well, so there’s a cross purpose. But longtime readers of this blog know how that blew up in my face.
I’m proud that I fixed the legal and financial issues I was facing due to having not been strong enough to ask for help when I truly could have used it. There’s a great deal of guilt and embarrassment that went along with my needing to fix things, knowing they contributed to other aspects of my life becoming unhinged. Having borrowed money from the former in-laws only created a situation where they questioned my ability to provide for their daughter, or grandchild. Bringing in someone to look over my shoulder for a period of time was necessary to save other people’s jobs. It really is that simple. I made a choice and it cost me dearly. In ways I counted predict.
My entire journey the last year has been about laying out my mistakes and trying to fix what I can. There are so many different clocks counting down that juggling them is impossible. And now my worst fear is coming about, people circling trying to take advantage of knowledge they didn’t have previously.
I had wanted to write about how nice it was walking down the street yesterday and having just about every person who drove by or was in their yard wave. Me and my cane were very happy just to walk, but the smiles made the pain in my body irrelevant for a few minutes. 2000 steps, a huge distance for me.
Today I’m just worried about the next person who wants to take advantage of my situation.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Snark Bombs, Away!.”