The world is going to shit—but why
worry? That’s what a surprising percentage of human beings think and let you
know. It hurts my brain so bad, it raises my hackles—I want to beat the stupid
out of them.
Our planet is going to start pushing
back harder than ever at the disrespectful shoving we’ve been doing to it for
the past two-hundred and fifty years. That means a lot of people may die, massive
migrations and human issues, famine, pestilence, all the warfare that can
follow as a result of disruptions to the delicate balance of our world. The
Book of Revelations and dystopian novels come to mind. Cormack McCarthy said it
best when asked about writing “The Road.” To paraphrase: I think we [humans]
will do ourselves in long before the planet does.
A potential future like the
images and text I’ve seen and read could become our reality, and much more
likely for the up and coming generations. This thought becomes a bit of a
stress weight on me thanks to my anxiety issue; I live in a perpetual state of
precarity where I feel the need to fight and spew venom sometimes because I
know the direction we’re headed as a species and I am not okay with that. I
also have to be a kind person who takes shit and doesn’t overreact much, a
professional who looks like he knows what he’s doing, someone who is stoic and
in control—people feel safe around those types. I have to perform to survive.
Yet deep down, I’m not always so happy and serene—there is a rage and a violent
anger that is guttural and mean; if turned inwardly, as is oft the case since I
don’t want to be arrested for beating stupid, inconsiderate people up, this
rage may work to break me down with cancer or some other malady—just a crazy
theory. Negativitiy and negative energy, I believe, has dire consequences over
a person’s wellbeing.
And I don’t rage just at the realistic possibility that this world may become a much harsher and horrible place to live in, but also because I am a recently awoken slave to a system that wants to keep me down financially and in a state of perpetual debt. Yet I am a part of it, and have to participate in consumerism, if anything to soothe the pain of existence at times. I am mad because of my perpetual state of low pay compared to the cost of living and because it was not a simple and or straightforward road to getting health insurance and effective treatment. My chronic ankle condition causes me pain and affects my mobility—my physical and mental health have suffered as a result and I want them back. I want to be able to run again and play softball with friends; I have to make this a goal before I die or before the world as we know it is taken from us by the greedy evil in this world and their zealots wearing blinders.
It’s easier to control people
like me when we’re living a precarious existence. It takes a lot of energy and
creativity to manage living in this world I was born into. People are speaking
out and fighting back, but it’s only a matter of time before the revolution
goes down—a revolution like no other it feels like. Or maybe the asteroid will
get us before that.
I hope it’s somewhat clear by now
why I worry sometimes. I almost feel like someone suffering from PTSD symptoms
when out in public. I sometimes feel like I’m in hostile territory and I often
think about how I would disable an attacker and escape—I have this weird thing
about looking for cameras and exits in places I go to; again, fight or flight—usually
when I’m alone. For some reason, having a friend or loved one near me soothes
my social issues, and so needed for longish driving trips; conversation makes
the time go by so much more pleasantly. Please understand, I’m not equating myself
to someone who has a serious and traumatic condition because I am not a veteran
nor have I experienced that level of violence—I shudder to think what would
happen if I had been exposed given my proclivity for mental illness. I almost
signed up out of high school and would have been sent to Afghanistan or Iraq
before my 4 years would have been up. That wasn’t my fate, which makes me think
I could have died or been severely disabled if I had taken that path. I was meant
for something else, apparently, and I’m still working on that at this moment by
writing, by helping, maybe by inspiring here and there; I like having that be
my purpose.
