Yesterday, one thought kept running through my head:
I am sick of this SHIT.
Yes, this post will contain swearing. Because sometimes, it’s the most honest form of language we have.
I was anxious as always. And anxiety makes every molehill into Mt. Everest, every stray word into an attack on my character, every snide remark into a threat, every irritated tone into a bullhorn of anger, every thread of doubt into a hangman’s noose, and every tragedy into an apocalypse.
It makes real, authentic relationships seem impossible, good intentions seem non-existent, and real love and commitment are only a myth.
It sucks, and yesterday, I was just helpless.
This attack of terror is setting me over the edge. It seems like every day there’s a new headline showcasing another tragedy, highlighting all of the pain, violence, and hatred this world has to offer. I try to live my life loving others, and these headlines make it all seem pointless and futile.
It’s driving me insane how dangerous my world has become. My illusion of a safe world was shattered at a very young age. By the time I was in third grade, Columbine proved to me that school wasn’t a safe place anymore. When I was in sixth grade, 9/11 proved that my country wasn’t immune to terror. In seventh grade, sniper attacks prevented me from enjoying time outside in the sun. In high school, colleges weren’t safe. In this past year, I mourn the fact that my children will know a world even more dangerous, in which their schools are not safe, in which running a marathon is dangerous now.
And as my world grows more and more dangerous, or as I become more and more aware of how safe I never really was, I can’t help but scream like crazy on the inside. It’s like I’m gripping my hair and shrieking to the sky, “WHAT IS HAPPENING?! HOW MUCH LONGER ARE WE PUTTING UP WITH THIS?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I THOUGHT THINGS WERE GOING TO BE BETTER!!!”
Because that’s the thing. Life was getting better. Spring had sprung. Life was growing. Hope was abundant.
And then…this. And then…life.
I haven’t given the Rapture much thought in a long time, but yesterday, I wondered if this was an event that was going to happen, what the hell was taking it so long to begin?
How long, how long, must we sing this song?
When will everything not seem pointless?
When will love really win?
The thing is, I want to stay in this mindset of despair and pain and hopelessness. I really do; as an anxious person, I’m also very pessimistic. While it’s certainly not enjoyable, pain and fear and sadness are kind of homey to me. Living in the moment and being hopeful aren’t as easy, not as familiar.
But today, I can’t help but have hope in the power of grace and love.
I can’t help but have hope when my Little Sister and I play soccer together. I can’t help but have hope every Friday at Sister2Sister, or on Sunday when they performed their own little dance recital for us. I can’t help but have hope in the 3 loaves of bread donated by a Farmer’s Market vendor for a local food pantry.
I can’t help but have hope in rescue workers, runners who run laps in honor of these victims, my boyfriend who has made it his goal to run this race for those who cannot, the messages of love, hope, healing, and prayer that I have seen on the Internet.
Yes, anger, violence, and hatred were present yesterday, just as they are today and will be tomorrow, here and all around the world.
But love is just as present, if not more so, and its light is beautiful, and I can’t help but be drawn to it.