Me: I'm fine. (translation: you aren't worth the effort to be honest with.)
Me: Terrible.
You: No you're not.
(You think I'm kidding about this one. I'm not. The purest form of denial.)
Me: Terrible.
You: You can't say that!
(A slightly contaminated form of denial.)
Me: Terrible.
You: But you could *choose* to have a *great* day!!
(Toxic positivity. The worst comforters in the entire world. A rather weird [desperate?] form of denial.)
Me: Terrible.
You: Oh, dear. (And then launches into a half-hour treatise of *their* troubles.)
(An interesting form of denial, *pretending* to be about sympathy, but really ensuring that there is no space/time for me to outline the realities of my life.)
Me: Terrible.
You: [Run away!]
(Yes, I'm well aware that death, grief, pain, and depression are taboo subjects in our society. I've known about the "death" prohibition since my sister died, when I was a teenager. But I have been surprised, recently, by just how strong this aversion is ...)
Me: Terrible.
You: I know *exactly* how you feel! I've felt like that when ... (and then considerable detail proving that, no, you really don't have much of an idea of how I feel at all ...)
Me: Terrible.
You: Just the way you like it!
Me: In what possible universe do you translate "terrible" as "just the way you like it"? I am a grieving widower, and a depressive, and I'm *surrounded* by people who can, when I say I'm terrible, say "just the way you like it!"
(I think I have mentioned that someone opined that the reason that I am here in Port Alberni, undergoing all this grief, and being open, and honest, and vulnerable, about it, is to encourage the congregants of the churches of Port Alberni to be more open, and honest, and vulnerable. https://fibrecookery.blogspot.com/2023/10/75-minutes.html If so, I am signally failing in fulfilling God's purpose in having me here. I wish I were dead ...)
Me: Terrible.
You: Why are you terrible?
Me: Because not one person, in all of the twenty-one churches in this city, cares whether I live or die. You have just proved that. You have asked why I am terrible. We have talked about that before. I am a grieving widower. That has not changed. My wife is still dead! Also, I am a depressive. Depression is not like the sniffles. You don't get over it in a couple of days. So, knowing all this, you still ask me why I am terrible. Obviously you don't care.
You: Well, buddy, can I pray for you?
Me: No.
You: Why not?
Me: Well, obviously, you don't mean it. You don't care. You have prayed for me before. It's always the same prayer. And it never happens. Jeremiah 31:25 never happened. It's almost as if you guys are determined to prove that it's a lie.
Me: Terrible.
You: Stop saying that. People are complaining to us that you complain.
(I really, truly, wish I were dead. Obviously nobody here cares whether I live or die, except those who would rather I died. Or, at least, moved away and stopped talking.)
(See also SYN/ACK: https://fibrecookery.blogspot.com/2024/05/synack-let-me-know-if-i-can-ever-help.html and Everything you need to know about grief counselling, you can learn from Holly Cole
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