You want to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. It’s almost an infantile fascination with the hero figure, and you want to embody that persona. You offer a helping hand, a calming presence, a hug of reassurance against hell, and all the empathy you can muster. You are too proud to reciprocate. Heroes are tortured, you think. Heroes live in solitude. Heroes shout against the void. Heroes save the entire world because they choose to.
Your inability to reciprocate vulnerability damages your soul. You long for a world of empathy and mutuality, yet you’ve always detached yourself from your problems, stepping outside of your body to shine a light on it. What frustrates you most about others are your own flaws.
You want to save the world from hell.
Invigorating people’s spirits is akin to breathing life into them, to will something from nothing.
You want to save yourself.