From the title of this blog, you probably think that I’ll be discussing the supernatural or the occult or something of that nature.  Rest assured, I am not.

But regardless of what direction this blog is headed in, you can probably surmise that, based on the title, I’m feeling some kind of way.

To be clear, 2019 has not been kind to me.  In fact, it would be fair to say that this year has been pretty monstrous.  I know that this probably makes me sound as if I’m a very ungrateful person since I’m alive and relatively healthy, all things considered.  But trust me, nothing could be further from the truth.

I appreciate life—my life in particular.  And I try to take nothing and no one for granted.  Be that as it may, I can’t help but feel like this year is already a bust.  You see, 2019 is the year that virtually everybody—everyone dear to me—died.

I mean, it’s only May and I’ve already lost enough friends and family to last a lifetime!  With that revelation, I don’t know what to do with myself.

I know in my mind that I have to go on with my life.  I have to pick up and keep moving forward.  However, in my heart, I am totally devastated.  I’m just going through the motions because I don’t have a choice.

Bills continue to mount.  Chores continue to require my attention.  And the sad reality is that the overwhelming responsibilities of everyday life don’t take a day off.

Truthfully, I feel as if I’m in a dream state, not truly awake and aware.  I’m just holding on by a thread, hoping that one day I’ll wake up from this nightmare!  Then, it will all be over.

And the blessed sleep that I used to depend on—that used to be my good friend—hasn’t been much of a friend at all lately.  It’s been a bit more AWOL than I remember.  And, when I do sleep, I dream dreams about my fallen friends and family members only to wake up sweaty and disoriented.  And then, to my utter chagrin, I find out that my dream was just a dream…and the people I love are still gone.  Over and over again…daily, I find this out.

So, my many wounds don’t get to heal.  In fact, every time a scab even remotely starts to form, it’s as if it gets snatched right off.  I wake up and I’m still here.  I’m back on ugly Earth.

It’s clear to me that I am sad.  I am truly, truly sad down in my soul.  However, I don’t want to burden my remaining friends and family members with my sadness.  So, I’m trying really hard to act as if nothing is wrong because I really don’t want them to worry.  After all, life is too short to worry.

So, I hope you don’t mind if I confide in you; if I tell you how devastated I really am; if I cry on your shoulder; and, scream on paper to you/at you.

I vehemently apologize for doing so, but I have to get this out!  I can’t keep it bottled up much longer.  It’s neither practical nor healthy to do so.

I just need to know that you are there…for me.  I just need to feel supported and understood.  Can you do that for me?  Would you do that for me?

Can anybody hear me?

 

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