Jamie Goldstein
Writing II
Prompt #1
I’m hurt. You’re hurt. It suffices to say that we are all, in some way, wounded. We carry the scars of our past in our blood, in our bones, and in our hearts. It is how we carry that pain that proves our mettle. We all have ways to deal with our own pain: some of us talk about it, ad naseum, until we can no longer understand it, some of us bottle it up until it fades away into the recesses of our memory, and some of us bury it underneath a plethora of distraction, whether it is self medication, booze, or a string of women.
But how do we deal with the pain of others? How do we console the wounded when we ourselves are tasked with the duty of marching on through the often unbearable pain of living? We deal with their pain through simple presence. We show our support in the plight of others by simply being there. When one is entirely wounded by the trials of life, the consolers must become consumers. You cannot offer true insight to the wounded, that must come from within. No– in order to best help those who cannot bear their own struggles alone, we must simply consume their emotions. We must be eyes and ears and a shoulder to cry on, but to be the mouth that speaks or the hands shaking the shoulders of the depressed into revelation is not our duty. We must be there only in the regard that we show ourselves to be caring people, who unfortunately have little to offer. You cannot simply tell a person how to feel, but to be there for them is the only therapy that could ever help to treat their wounds. We listen and we watch and we wait, and that is all we can ever do to help those who have lost the ability to deal with their own pain internally.
