The problem isn't trauma dumping in and of itself. The problem is if trauma dumping is all that you do.
tumblr
Welcome to /c/tumblr, a place for all your tumblr screenshots and news.
Our Rules:
-
Keep it civil. We're all people here. Be respectful to one another.
-
No sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia or any other flavor of bigotry. I should not need to explain this one.
-
Must be tumblr related. This one is kind of a given.
-
Try not to repost anything posted within the past month. Beyond that, go for it. Not everyone is on every site all the time.
-
No unnecessary negativity. Just because you don't like a thing doesn't mean that you need to spend the entire comment section complaining about said thing. Just downvote and move on.
Sister Communities:
-
/c/TenForward@lemmy.world - Star Trek chat, memes and shitposts
-
/c/Memes@lemmy.world - General memes
And respecting boundaries, and other people's bandwidth too.
Yeah, if someone only ever comes around with misery and sadness, it is very difficult to find their company enjoyable. It can also cause someone to feel used if they aren't receptive to listening to others' struggles. Frankly, if it is that bad, recommending they seek therapy is probably the most helpful thing you could do for them.
Definitely. I’m happy to lend an ear, but there are some issues I’m just straight up not qualified to help with.
Okay, I finally tracked down this quote. It's from De Profundis (written 1897, published 1915), and it's a slight modification:
If after I am free a friend of mine gave a feast, and did not invite me to it, I should not mind a bit. I can be perfectly happy by myself. With freedom, flowers, books, and the moon, who could not be perfectly happy? Besides, feasts are not for me any more. I have given too many to care about them. That side of life is over for me, very fortunately, I dare say. But if after I am free a friend of mine had a sorrow and refused to allow me to share it, I should feel it most bitterly. If he shut the doors of the house of mourning against me, I would come back again and again and beg to be admitted, so that I might share in what I was entitled to share in. If he thought me unworthy, unfit to weep with him, I should feel it as the most poignant humiliation, as the most terrible mode in which disgrace could be inflicted on me. But that could not be. I have a right to share in sorrow, and he who can look at the loveliness of the world and share its sorrow, and realise something of the wonder of both, is in immediate contact with divine things, and has got as near to God's secret as any one can get.
This was written during Wilde's stay in prison for "gross indecency" (read: gay sex).
The gay bit makes sense now.
I must say to myself that I ruined myself, and that nobody great or small can be ruined except by his own hand. I am quite ready to say so. I am trying to say so, though they may not think it at the present moment. This pitiless indictment I bring without pity against myself. Terrible as was what the world did to me, what I did to myself was far more terrible still.
Still this person is spitting fire.
That is very Oscar Wilde.
Oscar Wilde is a drama queen.