BLOG: WHY EMPATHY IS A DO-WORD! (by Ruuby May Blue)

A woman with a little baby in a baby carriage.

Takes seat with her mother in an outside restaurant.

They start chatting.

I start eating my meal.

Another woman takes seat with her son close to the carriage.

She sits, touching it with her back.

She lights a cigarette.

The smoke streams into the pram.

Streams and streams and streams.

The mother watches.

I am suffocating. Can’t speak. Can’t scream. The meal stuck in my throat.

The cigarette-woman has smoked almost all of it. Into the baby’s lungs.

Finally the mother gets up, turning the pram around.

The smoker squints over her shoulder and it almost looks a little snooty.

I don’t know, if I get the situation here.

Everyone saw the smoke floating into the baby’s face. The talk was more important, the food was more important, the sitting place was more important and the cigarette was more important; more important than a baby, who could not do anything about it.

And I am just the autistic. I do not have a clue. Because I am less empathic.

 

 

Summer season started. People are celebrating at warm evenings.

They are inviting guests to their homes.

They arrive after work, around eight o’clock p.m. .

In the middle of the week.

They start chatting.

Laughing.

Louder.

Louder!

They turn the music louder, otherwise they won’t hear it, because of the loud talking.

They now shout, because otherwise they won’t understand each other, for the music has concert volume.

Someone closes the window with a bam!

Someone opens a window and angrily yells: “Hello?!”, then closes the window.

I also renounce the fresh air while sleeping.

Sleeping? Gosh, it’s 1:00 a.m. and I am not sleeping. Tomorrow’s friday and I’ll have to do some hard tasks, like going to strange places, talking to strange people, hoping my selective mutism wouldn’t catch me, which mutes me off now, in front of my neighbor.

The child above my appartment woke up too, now rumbles sleepless across the floor.

2:00 a.m., the party’s still going.

House rules, house rules….it echoes in my head. My heart beats fast, so full of anger, until I finally fall asleep.

Four days a week on average it goes like this.

It is normal, that the rest needy pay for the fun of a majority.

I don’t know, if I got the situation here.

 But I am just the autistic. I do not have a clue. Because I am less empathic.

I just think, empathy ain’t worth anything without active participation.

 

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