In Ages Past

I sort of neglected to update my adventures in Virginia, but there are a few memories I'd rather like to record that I thought of today.

While I was there, my aunt or uncle (I don't know which) told me one of the more tragic stories I'd heard. Apparently, a teenage girl had been killed in a car accident close to the place where one turned from the main road to my relative's neighborhood. What's worse is that a year later, her brother was killed in another car accident not a mile away from where his sister had died. I can't imagine how terrible it was for their parents. To have one child killed is bad enough. But then, after a year of grieving, when small steps are made towards adjustment and you try, desperately, to cling to the future, once again tragedy strikes, leaving you with next to nothing.

Such repeated devastation seems unfathomable to me. Admittedly, my views on death are quite fatalistic, but I can still try to empathize. I know there have been worse stories, but still...

I try to think of how I'd react, with my unorthodox views on death. I try to think how I'd feel if my mother or father or sister died. How I'd feel if one of my friends died. And each time, I just don't see me getting too upset. It scares me. I fear I'm too detached from my emotions, so intent on controlling them and maintaining a level of apathy putting me above emotional pain that I can't really love anyone. It's all lipservice.

Honestly, I think me wrecking my car 1.5 years ago was more tramatic and painful than my own mother's death would be today. Why? Because the car wreck was my fault. Not only do I seek detachment, but I've come to the point where the only person who can cause me emotional distress is myself. At least, that's who I blame. I don't hold a grudge or point a finger at anyone else for my state of mind except myself.

It's very confusing. Surely I can't just be a self-centered individualist with an affection for altruism. I mean, I love to make people laugh. But is that truly because I like the joy of others, or am I seeking to fight my own insecurity and prove myself to have some worth in the eyes of others? I want to help people, I want to be there for them and aid them in their endeavors if I'm able and agree that I really am needed. But isn't that just another ploy to make my life seem somehow worthwhile?

I'm so afraid of overstepping my boundaries. It's a primary reason I try and limit my physical contact, because I'm worried I'll be considered forward or make someone (observer or "victim") uncomfortable. But this isn't a concern for the other person so much as an issue of convenience for me. I don't have to risk confrontation.

Then again, this is quintessential cynicism. I could just as easily apply this line of thought to most other people. However, I do often wonder if I really "love" as others "love." One of the cons of being forced into one perspective, I suppose. A quandry I'll never be able to solve. Ah well.

Next Virginia entry: My Voyages to Church