Tuesday, July 19, 2016

All this tragedy should make you feel thankful for your life, for what you have, your loved ones...
I'm trying to view it in that light, but it's just not working. 

All it does is compound the weight I carry. This inexplicable, constant, debilitating worry and anxiety. 
Worry for my son, my daughter, myself, our futures...

The financial struggle of single-parenthood does not help matters. Can I keep up with these bills? And for how long? Will we always live with mere pennies in the bank account? There is no extra. What happens if the truck breaks down? How will I school shop? How will I provide a Christmas? 

And then there's the far distant worries... How will I care for myself when I'm older? What if I can't? What if I have nothing to offer my children? No financial help to offer them, no house to leave them, no insurance policy... I've worked so hard for so long and have nothing to offer for it. 

And I worry so about my children. All these accidents lately. I fear them driving, traveling, going somewhere, doing something, anything
Worry, worry, worry...

I used to fear death; the after-life, or, more appropriately, the absence of one. Up until recently, it was one of my greatest fears. Lately it seems more like the ultimate release from a world of struggle and hardship and tragedy. 
I know that sounds morose. I don't mean it to be. I'm just thinking out loud. 

I need to think out loud. I wake in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning, with all of this. I think about it all day. Every goddamn waking moment. I can't concentrate on a book or a movie, or the day's chores or to-do lists, or making dinner, or work... 
Worry, worry, worry...
It's absolutely maddening. 

I wonder if it's mid-life. 
I don't know what it is. But I wish it would stop. 

I wish I could close with a joke or something to lighten the mood. But I just can't.