This whole week has been nothing more than an ocean of quicksand-esque anxiety above which I’ve been struggling to keep my head. That’s a different story, one I may delve into later. But when I come home that anxiety and stress only rises as I watch the news and see the current political issues, the election highlights, and the newest shooting or riots.
It scares me that we are so attached to our guns that we’re willing to die rather than admit there may be a problem.
It scares me that there are power-hungry people in positions of power who will do anything to show off.
It scares me that there are people out there that are so jaded by the system that they are willing to die just to make a point regardless of logic and reason.
It scares me that there are people who will kill in the name of God.
It scares me that we pray and pray and pray for peace but call for the death of those we don’t understand.
It scares me how quick people are to scorn, ridicule, condemn, chastise those who don’t look, act, or think the way we do, rather than at least try to understand them.
It scares me that no one believes anything that anyone says, and that there are almost as many people who will lie about something just for attention or to ruin the life of someone else.
It scares me that we judge people who have waited so long to speak up about injustice.
It scares me that there is enough hate and discrimination in this country that a person like Trump is a viable contender for president.
It scares me to think as I sit here typing this that I may not live to see tomorrow, lest someone comes into my work and decides to end it all in a blaze of fire. Which in my line of work is actually a possibility.
It scares me to know that there isn’t much I can, or even will, do except write this and hope someone else reads it and agrees. Perhaps someone less catatonic and anxious than I. Someone who isn’t scared to act on injustice rather than hide away and hope things work out like I.
Words don’t solve problems, actions do. Unfortunately I’m too scared to move or ever talk. That’s why I’m writing. Can I fix the world that way?