Fresh Fatigue

Our access to explicit content with the click of a thumb is concerning. 

The access breeds one of two things: empathy and acceptance. 

Maybe both? But you never want just acceptance. 

Acceptance causes apathy, indifference (don't roll your eyes at me, I know that's my second favorite word). From seeing such things, the mind might convince itself that those things aren’t big deals when they should always be big deals.

Growing up, weaponry was definitely foreign to me. I knew they existed? But my mother did a lot of isolation and suppression in regard to “adult” topics, so I really didn’t pay them no mind. I might have occasionally seen them in film, but never to a point where I was like “yes, that’s completely normal”, or never watching footage of people’s lives actually being taken. 

These videos I personally can never watch through. I watched a recent murder that was publicized and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My mind was trying to tell itself to filter what I just saw out. To dismiss it. Because if I don’t, here I go diving deep into the realm at being totally disgusted and fearful and not finding anyone trustworthy. We’re doomed, I’m doomed, generations to come are doomed. I don’t think I’m productive in that state of mind in any capacity. 

Being uncomfortable personally can provide growth for me though. Maybe in dosages? Because I think I can take a lesson from anywhere.

However painfully forsaken, social media is a double edged sword for me. And inevitably, I do get stabbed after being jabbed at multiple times. Community? Yeah. Desensitization? Fuck no.

If I’m going through a tough personal situation, I do seek comfort in the people who chose to beautifully lay their also “difficult” lives for others. I don’t find myself desensitized to these situations. I think the depth of the situations would be excruciatingly hard to be lost on me, personally. 

I speak a lot about my grief. I have suffered (and I mean that word with my whole chest) a parent loss, a sibling loss, and an unknown parent loss more prominently in my life. Not to say I haven’t also gone through grieving people who are alive, grieving past versions of me, past workplaces and definitely past friends for sure. Now, wholesomely enough, I get to grieve complete strangers too. Which will never be lost on me. 

The advocacy, the anguish, the unity, the rage in some instances, the fucking courage are all components that will never be lost on me.

I could use some time to breathe though. Some time to not carry, to not complicate. And I take that time, but more notably in my slumber. I shouldn’t wish this upon myself, but to sleep while still being awake and getting what I need done would be marvelous. Not for very long though, because I crave warm chaos.

I don’t want to see you die. 

I didn’t want to see them die. 

And I certainly don’t want to hear about code names for egregious cowardice, ink tasting errors happening or that have happened. All of my senses have recoiled in regard to that. 

I wish I could sit with you and carry some of your pain. Not just your love. 

Censor. Not filter. Engage. Not attack. 

Reputation sucks. 

Tributes to celebrities, ones that have been tainted being connected to certain atrocities. That mere thought makes me not want to mention this post. But the few words were moving. Especially in grief journeys. Words like these make me feel like someone is kissing my aching bones. 

I am floored by Macaulay’s words. The time. Time. Time. Time. To sort. To mend. To make your gratitude so astronomically obvious. And then feeling like you missed out on that. 

Reverting back to childlike feelings is one of my fortes considering I still harvest a need to space myself from maternal figures on my life (older women) because of my mother passing. I don’t want to rely on you because you’ll leave. It’s not fair for me to place that much responsibility on random ass people, but I find myself subconsciously doing so. And that’s where I think Macaulay sat as well when he wrote this tribute. Because this wasn’t his mother, but he loved her like one. And that’s more than enough. 

All of this to say that my fatigue renews itself and to a default, yours should too. I think it is very human to feel a responsibility for others even when you don’t have it. Especially a responsibility to, at base level, accept that a lot of vulnerable populations deserve better. 

Kiss your loved ones for me. And do an empathetic act for an acquaintance just fucking because.

[Image Description: The rights are mine. A darker picture. You can see a little bit of tan neck, a multicolored pastel shirt, and a necklace that has an orange cat with brown eyes. My orange cat has green eyes! And I already broke this necklace by the way. One of my favorite attributes to people is when they LOVE animals. Loving animals is one of the most beautiful things you can experience. I have so much respect for those type of people. In another life I would have been a veterinarian, a farmer, owned a no-kill shelter. My whole heart. Animal videos are such beautiful palate cleansers when you see a lot of ugly on the internet. Okay, love you, bye.]