What good is empathy, but yet another way that I get dragged down into the spiral of emotional sullenness? What good has it done me recently, other than pull me into emotional mediocrity, the very place I have fought like hell to remain out of?
A month of tragedy, and I have been at the fringe of it, never feeling for myself, only for others.
And now, here I sit in lonely social disorder, in a crowded blaringly silent restuarant, trying to find that song.
You know the one? I’m sure you’ve heard it before. It goes like this…
“Hmmm hmmmm hmmmm…”
Well, it did…
I used to know that song. I absolutely loved that song, actually. When I first heard it, it struck something deep inside me, like a blast of crisp clear water on a hot day. It was just pure and refreshing. The beats, the swirling melody, the complex underlying harmonies cascading into a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated joy.
So I found that song, listened to it about a million times, and now… it’s gone. The tidal wave has turned into a trickle, at best, and joy has been replaced with vague virgin interest.
But… well, that’s not it either. Damn, so close too.
I want more than just sound, more than just a collection of instruments playing in some interesting mathematical pattern.
I want something that fills me up. Something that I can sing along with at the top of my voice, until it feels like my vocal chords will break, my lungs will burst, and my mouth will echo with pure audio bliss, uncaring for all the world how much of a dumbass I look like while driving down the road at 40 MPH trying desperately not to get creamed.
Hmmm. Nope, not it.
Instead, I’m searching for that song, waiting for the flood like a lover seperated from the object of his affection for too long, pining for the feeling again.
How do I force this feeling upon myself? Is there another medium that will work for me to induce this feeling? Maybe sculpture, oil paintings, writings…
No, only music. Only glorious, exuberant sonance. And that one wasn’t it either.
I don’t know why music does this to me. I don’t know why it’s the only thing that can pick me up when I’m feeling myself spiral down the emotional drain, lazily waiting to tumble down into the emotional sewers.
And of course, today is one such day. The problem, as it usually is, is my empathic nature. This month has been difficult on many of my friends, with loss and grieving. The hardest part I’ve discovered about empathy, however, is not the flood of feeling from others, but my absolute, pure inability to do anything remotely helpful, either for them or myself.
I’ve been told before that I’m a good listener, but that I try and “fix” people’s problems too often. I see a friend in need or pain or harm’s way, and I want to take them out of it, take it on myself. If that’s a guy thing, then so be it. But that’s my nature. I say that I’m a good listener, but I guess I’m not. I guess I let myself get too close.
In effect, I’m exhausted by feeling everything, and yet being able to do nothing. I can’t not. I feel it too, and I have this innate desire to get rid of it. I guess the answer is get rid of myself, get myself out of the situation.
Well, shit, hit the next button, that isn’t it either.
There’s been a lot of pain surrounding me recently, making me feel like the eye of the emotional storms. But, to each person that I’ve tried to be there for, I’ve been on the fringes of their problem, naturally, being the listener for my friends, the ones who’ve experienced loss.
And I can’t do shit to help them.
I know I don’t have to, that all I’m required to do is listen and be there, as a shoulder to cry on, as a sounding board, as a drain pipe for negative emotion. And I can’t do shit to help myself, either, except leave them, which I absolutely refuse to do.
So, I sit there and suffer nearly as much as they do, but I’m the listener: I’m the guy to come to when you’re feeling down and need to vent or cry or whatever.
But the hell do I do when I need to do the same?
I turn on Winamp and try to find the right song.
And, by the way, that wasn’t it either.
Please don’t misunderstand, especially all of those out there who use me as that sounding board. It’s not your fault, and really, on any other day when I wasn’t already emotionally exhausted, I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is my place amongst my friends, I accept that with open arms and appreciate the fact that I can help. Some days, however, it’s just too much. The flood of emotion towards me fills me up, and I have nowhere left to put it. I’m full, and can’t channel it anywhere else.
It’s my fault, ultimately, for being unable to put any cognitive dissonance between others’ emotions and my own godforsaken empathy.
Instead, what I do is try and help them. I offer advice, offer a friendly story or anecdote, offer my words of kindness or wisdom… or whatever, and do what I can.
I need to learn to shut the hell up, because cute stories and advice isn’t helping any of you. You’re not here, standing with me, talking to me, to have your problems fixed, your questions answered, your own self “repaired” like I’m some damned emotional mechanic. I need to be the sounding board you need, the shoulder for you to cry on, the guy who’s just… there, doing what you came to me for:
Listening.
But I feel it all too, and naturally, it’s difficult on me. On my worst days, I try and fix your problems because I literally want them to go away. If your problem dissipates, if the source of your pain or discomfort lessens, then my pain or discomfort follows suit. I only offer an explanation, not an excuse: It’s a survival instinct.
But it doesn’t help at all, as a matter of fact, it probably just makes your situation worse. Suddenly, I come off as insincere, offering canned answers and misunderstanding understanding. That’s not what you need, and it only opens a rift between us.
But still, on my worst days, and even on my best, I have the most difficult time placing that barrier between myself and you. I’m sure if I did, I wouldn’t be as good of a listener. But because of that lack of barrier, my situation remains the same: I feel it all, and it begins to wear me down, to the point where only that perfect song, whatever the name of it is, will help me.
So, tell me… in the spirit of the old joke… What’s the name of that song?
Ahhh… there it is… if only for a moment, the perfect sweet song, and now I’m in the river again. The flood is back, and I want to cry out, in pure joy or in pure sorrow, instead of being dragged down the drain emotional reclusion and overload. This feeling that I have now, it may be an overload, but it’s my overload. I control it, the stop button and all, and I direct its energies. I know its source and I know what advice I need to give myself. And for a change, it’s good to just feel my own emotion, not the reflected energies culled from another’s soul.
To all those who I listen to, keep talking, and I promise I’ll keep listening. Forgive me my bad days, when I try to fix the problems you can’t fix yourself, offer advice you’ve probably already thought of or possibly don’t want to hear at all, or boil your concerns down to some trite, unemotional answer.
And, if you see me having my own bad day, mired by an emotional flood I cannot contain, battered down on all sides by the titan tidal wave of listening care, maybe you could offer your own support… for a song?
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