This isn't about me
Feb. 26th, 2014 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyBeen a bit of a long day.
One of the ladies that works in the office I have a part time job in was listed as a missing person this morning; a little later we found out she had been found dead, and a little after that we were told it was suicide.
I didn't really have an emotional response to it. It's very sad that she's dead, and it's sad that she couldn't see another way out. I feel awful for her family, especially her daughter. But I wasn't in a place to participate in the storm of weeping in the office; it would have been disrespectful to do so.
What really got to me, though, was the analysis and endless discussion that took place. I got basically nothing done as the people around me slowly talked their way out of shocked and appalled into a position where they'd known something was off, where clearly she'd been depressed, where there was an explanation that revolved around her difference and wrongness, although of course that was articulated.
And I understand the form of self-defense that these storytelling activities are, I understand that you have to form the world into something that makes sense and has reasons, but for those of a less neurotypical bent, and those with like friends, it is difficult and unhelpful to listen to.
I think I've got a lot better at 'this isn't about you' with age, although making this post in the first place would argue that I've not lost it entirely. I just wish I hadn't had to listen to the dissection of a woman's character that they'd barely known for six weeks.
One of the ladies that works in the office I have a part time job in was listed as a missing person this morning; a little later we found out she had been found dead, and a little after that we were told it was suicide.
I didn't really have an emotional response to it. It's very sad that she's dead, and it's sad that she couldn't see another way out. I feel awful for her family, especially her daughter. But I wasn't in a place to participate in the storm of weeping in the office; it would have been disrespectful to do so.
What really got to me, though, was the analysis and endless discussion that took place. I got basically nothing done as the people around me slowly talked their way out of shocked and appalled into a position where they'd known something was off, where clearly she'd been depressed, where there was an explanation that revolved around her difference and wrongness, although of course that was articulated.
And I understand the form of self-defense that these storytelling activities are, I understand that you have to form the world into something that makes sense and has reasons, but for those of a less neurotypical bent, and those with like friends, it is difficult and unhelpful to listen to.
I think I've got a lot better at 'this isn't about you' with age, although making this post in the first place would argue that I've not lost it entirely. I just wish I hadn't had to listen to the dissection of a woman's character that they'd barely known for six weeks.
