there’s a strange, reflexive horror in snapping from grief & sadness about the state of the world, back to the trials of a personal life to only find unexpected losses.

i suppose to care for anything is a choice. it could be society at large or it could be the person across the room. every choice comes with a risk, and caring about anything—be it an idea or an individual—is risking it all. it’s putting your heart or soul out on the table as collateral. if that care is exploited, rejected, or destroyed, and the collateral torn from your life, the void inside where once it was becomes a wound.

sometimes people ask me why i care so much about things i can’t control—the state, media, the financial industry. it’s because for all that is created, championed, or reported on in this country, none of it signals any hope. the wealthy literally build plans to leave to explore space as the world burns. the police arrest parents & let children die.

the personal trials of life are hard enough to manage. the intangible wounds we carry from the invisible breakage of living one day at a time is enough. my supply of grief & anguish has been drained over the past 14 days. unexpectedly a new personal loss takes the rest & i feel i have nothing left to give to this world. why would i want to? what is there to hope for? when everything from the system to personal support betrays what trust remains, i find my hands ready to reach for a bottle again.

some days it just feels i am covered in scars—that i’ve spent my chips at the table & bet on all the wrong things. that i have borrowed too much just to attempt to go on, yet never learned how to play the game, and now the bank has come to collect.