The Unreality of Memory: And Other Essays

There’s no compassion fatigue without compassion: The caretakers at risk see somebody suffering, and they want to reduce the suffering. But they can’t always succeed. Compassion fatigue, then, is stymied compassion.

Social media, with its reach and immediacy, even intimacy, threatens the “us versus them” classifications we make so naturally. It exposes us to people who are suffering thousands of miles away.

I don’t think most people are good, or bad, for that matter. I think people are neutral. From a distance, they look almost interchangeable. It seems to me that “good people” can become “bad people” when provided the opportunity within an existing power structure—to claim and exert power at a deadly cost to others and get away with it.

Whether or not I personally keep up with everything happening everywhere all the time, I know it exists; that awareness alone is fatiguing. It’s very easy to succumb to fatalism, perhaps the logical extension of compassion fatigue—believing we’re “fucked” no matter what we do is mysteriously tempting.

For the past several months, I’ve experienced a creeping psychic exhaustion. “I’m in a numb period,” I tell my friends when they send me frantic texts about the day’s news. My emotions seem blocked.

A progress trap is a development that looks at first like a clear advancement but in time proves to actually deoptimize the system.

A crowded world, then, has a dangerous opacity, providing cover for cruelty and corruption.

In this light, compassion is a matter of aesthetics.

I’m not just nostalgic for my past; I’m nostalgic for my pain. My own past suffering can be a great source of comfort. Why is that? Because it’s over? Or because it’s a badge of honor?

The NIH also notes that Tourette’s syndrome is more common in men, which makes me wonder if it’s a form of conversion disorder we’ve simply decided to take more seriously.