I’m feeling a bit glum these days. When I say a bit, I mean a lot. And when I say glum, I mean miserable. It wouldn’t be an outrageous claim to say that these last few months have been some of the most emotionally trying I’ve ever experienced. The nickname “Murphy” seems apt to describe my current state of existence; anything that could go wrong certainly seems keen on doing just that. At the moment, I’m Chicken Little and the sky is falling down around me.
I’m not going to elaborate on each piece that’s crashed to the earth. No one wants to read that. I’ll just say that, as recent experiences play through my mind, it seems as if my misfortune and misery are somehow a source of entertainment for some higher power. It’s horrible to even think, but lately I feel like God is using me as his personal piñata, lambasting me with sharp strikes over and over again until, one day, I will crumble and fall to the ground.
But to what end? What reward is he hoping might come pouring out of me when I do finally break? I’m sure my suffering isn’t senseless, no matter how much it may seem to be. I’d like to believe there’s a purpose for everything. Sometimes I have my doubts, but I do my best to bury them.
So what, if anything, do I stand to gain from all this? Will I suddenly be full of understanding and appreciation for the trials that I’m facing? Will I learn to be more appreciative of the people and things in my life? Maybe I’ll just finally learn to listen to the not-so-subtle voice in the front of my mind that gnaws at my head, making me feel ashamed and guilty as it tells me, “Trisha, millions of people in the world suffer far worse fates than you do and would kill to live the life you lead. You should be damn grateful for having it so easy.”
That little voice is impressive because it’s worked out a way to sound exactly like me. Touché, annoying stream of conscious. I get your point.
I realize that this rant sounds exceptionally depressing and whiney. I’m sure it's hard to tell from this post, but I’m actually coping fairly well these days. Today marked the end of a big chapter in my life, so I’m feeling a bit nostalgic about the pages that are closing. More than anything, I guess I’m just feeling a little bit discouraged. And also helpless. And heartbroken. Nostalgic, discouraged, helpless, and heartbroken.
I’m not asking for anyone’s sympathy. (Believe me, I’ve been ingratiated with enough well-intentioned, but nevertheless useless platitudes imaginable in recent weeks).
“Time heals all wounds.”
"Things will get better eventually. Stay positive.”
“I’m certain that there's a light at the end of this dark tunnel.”
My personal favorite is “This too shall pass.”
Blah. I hate cliches.
No, I don’t want sympathy. Or pity. Especially not pity. I’m not even necessarily asking for things to get better. Don’t get me wrong, that’d be nice. I’ll admit that I’ve appealed to God several times to put down the club and and back away from the piñata. He hasn’t yet acquiesced, so I’m bracing myself for a few more lashings before things start to improve.
In truth, what I really want is the ability to comprehend why everything is happening; More specifically, why does everything have to happen at once?
I’m not yet wise enough to know. On day, things will be clear. In the meantime, as the pieces continue to fall down around me, I’m clinging to my sanity, venting my emotions to cyberspace, and continuing to ask the question, “Are you there God? It’s me, Trisha.”
