maybe going through all that hell was the price you paid to be able to, one day, give someone else in that situation the extraordinarily rare gift of being understood. The deeper the hell, the rarer that gift, the more precious the meeting.
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I wish that were true. Instead, I paid the price of being rejected for trying to help.
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“Do not believe that he who seeks to comfort you lives untroubled among the simple and quiet words that sometimes do you good.
His life has much difficulty and sadness... Were it otherwise he would never have been able to find those words”
— Rainer Maria Rilke
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It's one of those clubs no one wants to join, but once you're in it, the least you can do is support the other people thrust into it.
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There’s also the value of being able to perform a translational function, explaining the terrible and unusual to those who haven’t been there
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all tragedy and adversity contains information. useful, raw information, stuff you can't access from the paved path.
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