Pain sponge

I am currently listening to “What is the What” in my car as I drive to work and school and dance and wherever else my life takes me.  I am finding myself easily lost in and completely overwhelmed by this story.  I have cried I am not sure how many times and I am not even halfway through.  But I can’t stop.  And as I think about that fact I realize that I do this all the time.  I am drawn to heartbreak and pain. Not because I enjoy it. Not because I can fix it. I don’t think it’s a sub conscience effort to punish myself.  But maybe it is. Would I be able to recognize that if it’s sub conscience?

Whatever the reason I surround myself with the stories of people.  And sometimes actual people.  And I listen to their story.  And I feel their pain.  I listen to the pain of Sudanese boys in a civil war, then listen to the pain of American middle schoolers who are sometimes struggling to meet their basic needs.  The suffering is different but it is still suffering.  And I feel it. Each time.

Maybe I do it out of privileged guilt?

Maybe it is because of my ability to isolate myself in my own suffering once upon a time and my realization that NO ONE should do that.  We must have a hand to hold. Maybe I can be that hand?

But I am not holding any hands of the now grown adults from Sudan.  I am just listening to their pain.  Maybe the purpose of that is to carry the story and make sure it is not forgotten?  Perhaps there is no purpose.
Either way I will not stop.  

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