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2021-08-29 - 9:52 p.m.

It looks like the last time I wrote in Diaryland, it was July 2016. I used to depend on Diaryland so I could anonymously post things into the internet to get them off my chest. I don't care if anyone ever finds them, it is just for catharsis.

New Year's Eve 2015 Kelly left. I was broken. I turned to Diaryland a couple of times to vent. Then I got a therapist who could actually respond, so Diaryland took a backseat. It took me, what, 5 - 6 years now to heal a bit. But I had a rough day today, first in a long time, and I don't have a therapist, so Diaryland, thanks again for being there so I can vent.

My heart hurts for one of my best friends. She's suffered in life, and managed to maintain her sanity and positivity. She gives and gives and gives of herself, adding the positive energy that this universe desperately needs, not asking for anything in return, but deserving some return on her investment for a change. She fell in love with a person during the last two months and is head over heels. She was gratified for the universe giving back to her for a change. And humanity, jealousy, and greed appears to have robbed her of it again. Her new love may have been killed by jealous family members overseas. My friend in beside herself with grief, desperation, shock, and helplessness.

So in a second conversation with another best friend, I tried to empathize with her plight of pandemic grief, poverty, political subjugation, and another form of utter desperation and looking for a reason to go on living with helplessness and being in an imprisoned mind, an imprisoned society. I tried to comfort her. I tried to give her the most sympathy and positivity I could, because there is enough negativity in the world, in her world, already.

I am unable to actually help these friends and loved ones. I cannot actually get them out of their plight. And it is so difficult to find the right words to help or even engage these dear friends as I speak with them. Not to give them advice or try to find solutions to problems, but just to even show them that I am listening and sympathizing with them. My imagination was working overtime, trying to imagine myself in their shoes, figuring out what they'd need to hear to be of any help, or at least not make the problem worse. Because when the crisis from within is caused by an intractable crisis from without, what good are words? Sometimes the silence required for listening, as much as it might demonstrate caring and empathy, can be an empty echo chamber that can reflect the hurt. The phone can never replace a shoulder to cry on. And I feel like a million miles away, so ineffectual for my friends.

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