OT: So. Damned. Frustrated.
And overwhelmed. And scared. And angry.
Sorry, folks. But this blog is about life too, along with the fun stuff. And I just have to blow this off somewhere.
The Paris terrorist situation has me freaked out. Not so much fear for myself; I’m not actively worrying that it will happen here (again), although that’s always possible. I’m just in that spiral where I feel like it really sucks, living in a world where atrocity like this is possible. Where people can be so criminally and brutally insane, and then other innocent people have to suffer for it.
And even worse? The various forms of backlash. The anger spewing forth on social media. The talk of retaliation. Effing idiots like Donald Trump saying that Paris should have had guns. Yeah, right. WTF? Everyone should have gone to the concert and all those other venues packing? And what good would that have done against bombs?? And how is it that someone so incredibly fucking insensitive and stupid is a Presidential candidate?
The anti-Muslims are raving anew about how horrible these people are. But blaming an entire religion for the actions of fanatics is just as bad as their hatred for us. That’s like saying all Catholics are child molesters, because of the church scandals. Can’t people see how illogical that is? Fighting hate with hate is a death sentence.
The religious are telling us to pray. The atheists are telling us don’t pray, act. Do something. It’s no secret that I am in the latter camp, but I feel utterly powerless. Just what am I supposed to do, exactly? I am but a mere drop in a vast ocean of craziness.
And please. If you want to pray, then do. If that brings you comfort, go for it. But please stop telling me to pray. Please stop telling me to believe in what you believe. What good does your prayer do? Does it help any of those people who were blown to smithereens in Paris last Friday? You will only make me angry if you tell me to pray. Every time I see one of those “Pray For Paris” memes, I have flashbacks to being fourteen years old, and being face to face with my brother’s religious friends, sweetly telling me to pray for him after he was thrown out of a car and became part of the freeway. I called bullshit then, and I’m calling it now. So please. Do what you need to do… quietly. And if reading this makes you angry at me and you think I’m a horrible person, then I guess I’m just not your cup of tea. I’m sorry.
I wept in John’s arms this weekend. I just felt so overwhelmed, so sad, so scared. I know I’m not alone in this. But sometimes, the feelings get bigger than I can handle. And then there’s nowhere to go but downward. No. I do not want to go there.
I don’t have any answers. I just have questions. And feelings. Lots and lots and lots of feelings.
Thanks for reading. I am going to go kick some metaphorical ass at the gym now.