I believed him because I had compassion. I had compassion on him, and with that compassion I trusted him. Compassion is never to be confused with pity, though I'm not sure how to explain the difference. It's just one of those things that we understand to be entirely different, though they seem so much the same. I know it wasn't pity I had because of what I allowed to happen. Pity isn't personal as compassion is; there is your difference.
Pity is distant, pity does not get involved, and pity, by no means, allows itself to get hurt. Compassion just jumps in and does what it thinks it needs to do in order to make things right again. Compassion, I believe, is dying out. No one wants to have compassion. No one wants to suffer. I'm not saying I cared for him because I am masochistic. I did what I did because I thought I had to. Why did I do it? It is my nature.
I want to say that this compassion almost cost me everything I have, and then more of what I didn't have. I want to talk about how scared I was. I want to say that I regretted everything I did for him. I want to say this because it struck me so hard that it's all I want to express. Those two months of living in terror, in my own bedroom afraid of the air I breathe lest it betray me, I never felt that type of fear. It was not a panic fear (like a child in the dark), but rather this fear fueled by half-belief. It was always on my mind- from my daily walks to my dreams. I couldn't sleep, not because my heart was beating too fast, but because I was stuck thinking, mulling, dwelling on this threat I only half-believed.
But I already know all this. I sit here, thinking about those three months that we spent as a distant couple. He made me smile. He was stupid, he was below me, but he amused me. He stimulated me. I always feared him, to an extent, and I always knew I never loved him regardless of how much I try- but the fact was that I tried. I tried to love him. Why did I try to love a man (oh hindsight) that my intuition told me was dangerous? I won't think I'll ever truly understand my nature, other than compassion.
Pity is distant, pity does not get involved, and pity, by no means, allows itself to get hurt. Compassion just jumps in and does what it thinks it needs to do in order to make things right again. Compassion, I believe, is dying out. No one wants to have compassion. No one wants to suffer. I'm not saying I cared for him because I am masochistic. I did what I did because I thought I had to. Why did I do it? It is my nature.
I want to say that this compassion almost cost me everything I have, and then more of what I didn't have. I want to talk about how scared I was. I want to say that I regretted everything I did for him. I want to say this because it struck me so hard that it's all I want to express. Those two months of living in terror, in my own bedroom afraid of the air I breathe lest it betray me, I never felt that type of fear. It was not a panic fear (like a child in the dark), but rather this fear fueled by half-belief. It was always on my mind- from my daily walks to my dreams. I couldn't sleep, not because my heart was beating too fast, but because I was stuck thinking, mulling, dwelling on this threat I only half-believed.
But I already know all this. I sit here, thinking about those three months that we spent as a distant couple. He made me smile. He was stupid, he was below me, but he amused me. He stimulated me. I always feared him, to an extent, and I always knew I never loved him regardless of how much I try- but the fact was that I tried. I tried to love him. Why did I try to love a man (oh hindsight) that my intuition told me was dangerous? I won't think I'll ever truly understand my nature, other than compassion.
