As I type this, I am exhausted.

This past month has been non-stop with life-changing events, to me personally and to people around me. And to admit my fragility in these times feels wrong in the face of a unique American determinism – “manifest what you want!” – sometimes the truth is just the truth and I actually cannot control much of what’s happening around me.

This helpless feeling does not feel great. The feeling that death is coming, that emotion will run hot, that things are getting worse and worse; it leads to a feeling of malaise, of depression, of a condition not even soft-serve ice cream or a big hug can assuage. And that’s a tall order; sometimes, that’s all you need to temporarily put aside the notion that things are bad because, surely, they’ll get better.

But to be at a point where you can’t enjoy something because of a feeling of existential dread, there’s something wrong. And even though there is a movement to dismiss those feelings as not valid – “It’s all in your head!” – it’s not a feeling that can be shaken easily.

And that’s where I am. Dread and foreboding rules everything around me, and that cloud doesn’t look to be lifting any time soon. And I wish it would; I got shit to do!