I wish I knew how to carry it. I don’t feel numb, but in truth I am. I have to shut out the horror in order to function. I can’t be outraged and broken hearted all the time. It would literally ruin me. It was beginning to. I’m alive, the sky is still blue, food still tastes good. I don’t know how to hold what’s terrible and beautiful at the same time. Nonetheless, they are both right there. After reading your heartfelt essay, I read Elissa Altman's, posted today. It helped me, and I thought it was a fitting answer to yours. x
I keep wondering when I will have to take in an immigrant so they won’t be snatched up or killed in broad daylight in front of my place. I don’t know how Anne Frank wrote so much, because I’m not even hiding for my life (yet), but the revisited horrors of 1941-1945 have stolen my words…my zest for the written word…my creative spark. All of my words are only four letters long now…and my lexicon is best not share in public spaces. 😮💨
I had similar thoughts when shortly after a school shooting I couldn't remember much about it. The horror had faded into the collective dismay of the many previous mass shootings. Now, when I watch the global shitshow unfolding on the news I glibly wonder, "What next?"
I know, it's so heavy. Loving you through it all (fellow perimenopausal woman here). Lately I've been waking up and giving myself 2 minutes to read the New York Times headlines while I pet the cat and not get out of bed until I can think of at least one thing that I'm excited about doing that day. I don't know, it helps a little. 💗
Love you too friend. And I do have little things that I shift my attention towards that lift me up, which absolutely helps for a time. :) Thanks for being my friend. <3
"How do we carry it all?"
That's exactly what I've been asking, though you've worded it better.
Thanks for making me feel less alone, Deb. <3
I'm right here with you, Mesa, on so many levels.
Glad we’re not alone in this, Michele. <3
I wish I knew how to carry it. I don’t feel numb, but in truth I am. I have to shut out the horror in order to function. I can’t be outraged and broken hearted all the time. It would literally ruin me. It was beginning to. I’m alive, the sky is still blue, food still tastes good. I don’t know how to hold what’s terrible and beautiful at the same time. Nonetheless, they are both right there. After reading your heartfelt essay, I read Elissa Altman's, posted today. It helped me, and I thought it was a fitting answer to yours. x
I’ll have to read hers now! Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me, I’m glad we’re not alone. 🩵
I keep wondering when I will have to take in an immigrant so they won’t be snatched up or killed in broad daylight in front of my place. I don’t know how Anne Frank wrote so much, because I’m not even hiding for my life (yet), but the revisited horrors of 1941-1945 have stolen my words…my zest for the written word…my creative spark. All of my words are only four letters long now…and my lexicon is best not share in public spaces. 😮💨
I understand completely. <3 Xoxo
I had similar thoughts when shortly after a school shooting I couldn't remember much about it. The horror had faded into the collective dismay of the many previous mass shootings. Now, when I watch the global shitshow unfolding on the news I glibly wonder, "What next?"
Right?!
I know, it's so heavy. Loving you through it all (fellow perimenopausal woman here). Lately I've been waking up and giving myself 2 minutes to read the New York Times headlines while I pet the cat and not get out of bed until I can think of at least one thing that I'm excited about doing that day. I don't know, it helps a little. 💗
Love you too friend. And I do have little things that I shift my attention towards that lift me up, which absolutely helps for a time. :) Thanks for being my friend. <3