That’s how I felt just over 24 hours ago when I learnt about the unjustified horrendous attack on thousands of happy, innocent people and children in Manchester.
How can I be part of a human race that initiates and carries out such atrocities? How can I be expected to carry on with my own happy world when so many are grieving?
It’s a survival mechanism, for me to drift. To detach myself from horror while I compute the sheer scale of it and wonder why anyone could possibly justify attacks like this.
I comes from growing up in North Belfast, I guess. I had to protect myself from the mental pain acts of violence caused. I was considered aloof. My granny told me I was, so it must be true.
I haven’t made the connection before. Adrift and aloof. Now it makes sense. I wasn’t being aloof, I was adrift from the agony the victims were suffering, trying not to be caught up in the tragedy. I needed to focus on keeping things “normal” for my own children.
I do care and I will always care. I just can’t always face reality in the same public way most people do.