Sometimes, I can't handle life. It's too horrible.

Remember this statement from my last post: "But in an uncharacteristic show of optimism, I have faith the evening will get better"? It's amazing how wrong I can be. This is why I don't generally engage in optimism. It just never turns out well.

I volunteer on the Utah County Rape Crisis Team, and I was on call this weekend. What this meant was that if anybody reported a rape, I went to the hospital to explain things and sit with them while doctors, nurses, and cops dodge in and out. We also give them information about resources available to them--counseling groups and whatnot. It's a demanding job, but very rewarding. I love that I can be of some use to these people, that I can do something to ease such an awful situation even just a bit. We also answer crisis line calls, but that's not part of this story.

Saturday night, just after 9, I got paged. I was needed at the hospital. So I went, and I did my thing. (This visit was uncharacteristically short--I was back home by 9:30. Usually, they go for hours.) Anyway, for some reason, this call really got to me. I usually handle it pretty well. The worst I've done is that once, I just had a generally negative outlook on both life and people for a few days afterward. (How is this different than usual, you ask? Normally, my negative outlook is about life only, not people. I genuinely believe that most people are good people doing the best they can. But sometimes, when you see what they can do to each other...)

I'm not sure why this one bothered me so much. Maybe it was just the last straw--one too many lives torn up for me to handle. And they're just so young. I can't get over it. We don't deal with juveniles, but I think that even 20 is far too young to have to deal with something like this. (And that's probably the average age of the girls I've worked with.)

When Tianna and BJ got home, I was laying on the couch in the back living room, moping. (I actually think this might have been part of the problem. Usually, I get paged at 2 or 3 in the morning, so I go straight to bed when I come home. Being awake and forced to think about it may have been a major contributing factor. Also, the highly emotional past few weeks probably didn't help.) BJ, good man that he is, tried to help. But there was just nothing for it; I was too upset. Fortunately, Michael came over after a while, and he held me while I cried. And cried. And cried. Poor guy. But after that and talking for a bit, I felt much better. Thank goodness for friends who don't mind when you fall apart. Sometimes, there's just nothing else to do. And for somebody to be willing to hold the pieces together for you when you can't do it yourself is a real gift.