…it gets worse.
My house was broken into recently. I lost some things. Things are just things, as they say. Stuff can be replaced. Nobody was hurt. And that’s fortunate.
This has just been a capper to a not-so-swell period of about 18 months. Sometimes loss becomes a game. The game is how much more can I take? Well, how much more can I? The answer is not so certain. When I was young, around 20 or so, I thought I could handle just about anything. I felt sure, certain, that I could deal with whatever was thrown at me. Now that I’m just past 40, I realize that maybe there is a point where it’s all too much. That I’m reaching my expiration date. This is a scary chain of thought.
Just to be clear, I’m well aware that I have it better than some … hell … have it better than many. It’s not that I haven’t been blessed in life, I’m well aware of that. In the face of those who are homeless, starving, losing loved ones and suffering through terminal illness, it seems kind of selfish to be all doom and gloom. I can’t help it though. The shadows are thick.
I fear that I’m losing the elasticity needed to bounce back from these setbacks. I’m starting to feel defeated. I no longer feel anger over the hurts, instead, I just feel sad. I feel weary. How much longer is this stuff going to go on? How much more can I take?
Some people would probably say that just by writing this I can probably withstand a lot more. I’m not so sure about that. I’m writing this because it is three in the morning, I can’t sleep, I was robbed, and I don’t know what to do. I’m tired of having to be strong all of the time. I’m tired of pretending like I’m strong when I’m not. I’m tired of these new feelings of uselessness and hopelessness I have to contend with all the time.
I just wish life would pick on somebody else for a while.
Selfish? Maybe. I just want to be left alone.