Suffering.

We suffer.

When JD Sallinger passed last week, my mother commented on the recluse he entered into after the success of his book, Catcher in the Rye. “Something seems to haunt the mind of the  gifted, I see it in a lot of talented people.”

I simply replied, “I have it in me.”

We suffer.

A few weeks ago I was speaking to Alphaeus (who I’m sure will be explained later) about personal and relatively minor tribulations. He told me he wished I was happy (I’m sure you do Alphaeus). As soon as the words flashed on to the screen of my Blackberry, I realized my true response was, “I don’t.”

I’ve been angry for so long, angry that God kept allowing me (and if I truly believed in the God I worshiped as a child I would say he forced me) to endure suffering. My dad left when I was 12, my mother suffered from her own demons which directly impacted my life and future, I lost both Godparents, one to death, the other to life itself, I was forgotten in school, forgotten at church, and suddenly, after the calm of the storm my freshmen year of college, was dropped into a whirlwind of pain in the form of Alphaeus, the suicide of a friend, roommates from hell, and the loss of nearly everyone, including myself.

It hurt. I was angry. I wanted retribution. But I would not choose another life.

We suffer, and as a result, we know what the other side is like. Beautiful. Worthwhile.

And if we never had to suffer, no matter how full our lives are, we just may be forgotten. For we have no story.

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