Maybe I’m Malfunctional

I must have some sort of deep-seated empathy that doesn’t extend to people in this world.  Maybe, I’m numb to the sufferings of most people here because of media or because I dislike so much of the general population.  Yet, I can read books that I have read time and time again, stories that I know every twist and ending to, lines and passages I have read so many times that I can quote them…and for these people, the characters in my books, I feel true sorrow at their deaths.  My eyes blur with tears sometimes at the anguish they experience that I have to stop reading until the pressure in my tear ducts recedes.

How is it that I can feel so strongly for people that do not, nor ever have existed?  How can I weep for a figment of someone else’s imagination and not feel anything for a family whose daughter has been kidnapped or even a classmate whose mother has died?  Is it because they posses qualities that are so often absent in "real" people?  I do not know.  It is something to ponder.