I find it fascinating to witness in myself the guilt in feeling pleasure after a “tragic” event.
I find it fascinating to witness in myself the guilt in feeling pleasure after a “tragic” event.
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Sometimes it’s just resentment that parts of me continue to behave as if nothing had happened, making the entire episode feel like spoiled self-indulgence, another unwanted and unneeded emotional intrusion. Oh, yeah, the disgust of not yet being dust.
My wife is the daughter of two Holocaust Survivors who met after the war. Her mother’s first husband died in the camps.
Sometimes she feels a touch of survivor guilt, because she never would have existed had he lived. She was only born because somebody else died. And he only died because a lot of other people died.
My answer to you both is the same: How terrible would this world be if something were so evil that nothing good could come out of it?