That nameless feeling

You know that feeling you get when there’s a lot of shit moving around, change is coming, transitions are pending, and you know it’s going to work out but it still feels crappy?  It feels like you can’t tolerate one more disruption, no matter how minor, or you’ll never crawl to your feet again – that feeling?  Oh, and as soon as you’re careless enough to say “oh cheezus – I can’t handle one more goddam thing or I’ll die!” the spiteful goddesses/gods/FlyingSpaghettiMonster sends just one more thing – just to see if you really WILL die this time?

That feeling.  That awful, indescribable, shrinking, contracting, solidifying, small, helpless, useless, no-one-cares-about-me-and-i-hate-my-own-goddam-self feeling?

Why is the only remedy for that hateful feeling to ride it out?  To fucking sit with all that discomfort and agony of waiting and ever-increasing feelings of worthlessness and shame and unwantedness?

WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY??????

In all of our human inventiveness and creativeness and blahblahblahblah, how have we NEVER come up with a better solution than “ride it out”?  I’m not counting all those things that will eventually kill you – drugs, alcohol, overeating, overfucking, punching and kicking shit, beating people up, stealing things, and all that other crap.  I mean a genuine, bona-fide, non-lethal way to spare ourselves all that unpleasantness.

Oh, and I’m also not talking about all that bullshit meditation, “it’s all just energy,” don’t resist, let it flow through you, the-sooner-you-learn-to-accept-the-easier-it-will-be, do some yoga, hike in nature, get a friend, get a lover, cook something delicious and share it, and all that other HIDEOUS well-meaning but enraging advice!  Keep your goody-goody, namby-pamby do-right-by-the-world smarminess to yourself buddy.

There is REAL SUFFERING happening here.

Well, when I say “real” I mean “real to me.”  I don’t mean “real” as in I’m a refugee, lost a child, am destitute or homeless, have to sell myself for money, or other people are selling me for money, being tortured, kidnapped, or killed, having to find food for me and my kids at every meal, living in a war zone, have to choose between food and medicine, suffering a crippling, wasting, painful disease, having to care for others constantly with no respite, have no friends, family, or loved ones, am living in my car, or on a landfill, am watching people suffer or die daily, am elderly and have almost no income and no family, live in a medical facility with no outside contact, am disabled and have limited access to care and support, am a vet living with PTSD and don’t know how to get help, and…

I think I should stop writing now.

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