Horrifically wrong.
I have 2 stories for you to read. 2 heart-wrenching stories. This post will reference these as if you have them open, because I have them open as I write this. If you know anything about me, you probably know that I work in the theoretical, typically. I rarely cite specific sources. I never mean to pull attention away from the hard work of the creators of the works I reference, I merely work better by reading something, then letting it sit for a while before I create my own work. Regardless, these two posts, both by the same author need to be brought directly to your attention.
Before you follow me down the rabbit hole, allow me to provide some specific instruction. Read the first story, and then read some of the comments at the bottom of the page. You don't need to read all the comments, but I would encourage you to read enough to understand the gist of the argument. Following that, please read the second story. Then, return here and listen to my inefficient voice.
Click here for the first story.
Now for the second story, click here.
Have you finished reading both stories? In the order prescribed? Then let's have an honest discussion.
Are you crying? Did your heart break? Mine did. I couldn't get through the second story (the first chronologically), without crying. Do you know why? Because I read the most recent story first. I read as she sought to free herself from the oppression of the internet. Her fear, guilt, and sorrow. Her desire to be understood.
Then, I read the earlier article from her. I felt the mother's pain at the loss of her son. My heart ached to know of her suffering. The struggles that her family have gone through. I do not know this family personally. I was not privy to the story when it broke more than a year ago. Yet, I still suffer with her. I suffered more to know that, even after a year, the public still could not understand this mother. The collective people of the internet did not even know this heroic woman. She stood up and brought her life and the lives of her family under scrutiny. All of that was done that her life may act as a warning to the rest of the world. So I cried. I cried because I could sense her pain. I cried because the world had been cruel to her.
And then I made a crucial mistake. I finished reading her plea for understanding, and I shifted my attention to the comments below. As I grieved for this woman, I left myself vulnerable to the hate that came from the people in the comments. As the poisonous barbs flew, my grieving turned to anger. I quickly knew a new pain, and it came from the double-edged blade of hatred. Hatred, not towards the grief-stricken family of the brave young man. No. It was hatred directed solely towards the haters. The wicked individuals who sat behind their fortresses of solitude and spewed forth their toxic diatribe.
Where is Bellerophon and his Pegasus to slay this virtual Chimera. Alas, he doesn't exist. There are no heroes to save us from ourselves.
How could anyone say such things as this:
"As a gay man who spent three years helping men who were dying alone and in pain from the plague, I have no sympathy or forgiveness for her.
I feel disgust that she found compassion AFTER she drove her own son to death."Or this:
"this woman deserves only contempt and disgust. "And of course:
"God isn't using your story to build bridges for others. This God you worship doesn't exist, and the religion you follow has killed your child. If you really want to understand what happened and change for the better, start with realizing that God has no part in this."Who ARE these people? This family has suffered so much more than I can possibly imagine. Unbelievable amounts of pain. Pain from the loss of their son. Anguish and guilt from the clear belief that they drove him away. The mother has spent years and years suffering from her guilt. Not only does she say as much, but you can feel the warmth from her tears in her words. Her blood has soaked the pages of both accounts of the events of her son's life.Yet. Yet, all she asks for is understanding.
Understanding that they were wrong. She acknowledges it. She believes it through and through. She comes to the public on her knees, a broken soul. The purpose of the account is to serve as a warning to the world.
Please, she begs, please do not do what we did.But the world rejects her. Rather than see her as a grieving mother, who has made fewer mistakes than the rest of us, the world of the internet condemns her. They spit on sobbing soul.
Who are we.
Anger and Sorrow be unto us. For we condemn ourselves.
~tpp
