I keep trying to write…something.
I’ve got nuthin’.
The draft file is growing exponentially, but I’ve been feeding it only creepy fast-foodish stuff that has questionable origins and no real nutritional value at all.
Life’s a bit of a mess right now, and there’s no getting around it. Everything is upheaval and turmoil and transition and angst and pain.
Many people write to expel their demons, to survive their treks through the dark. It’s a help to spew all of it on paper and get the grief and anger out of your system. For me, though, such writing is best burned, and never shared. And these days, that sort of kindling is all I’ve got.
Looking around, the awful fact of the matter is I’m not the only one dealing with a hard situation. So many of us are trekking through the dark, and it seems as though we’re completely alone.
Someone you know is dealing with the grief of a broken friendship.
Someone you know is aching over lost love.
Someone you know is aching because their children are hurting.
Someone you know is aching from the pain of a difficult disease.
Someone you know is carrying heavy financial burdens.
Someone you know has recently lost someone they love.
Someone you know has been betrayed by someone they trust.
Someone you know is weighted down by guilt.
Someone you know is carrying several of these burdens all at once.
Reach out if you’re able, and grab the hand of someone else who’s hurting. Love is a weird thing: it grows when it’s given away. In the weird math of grace, helping someone carry their burden oddly lessens the weight of your own.