Year of Tragedy

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Trigger Warning for: depression, death, suicidal thoughts, the overall shittiness of the world

This is just some stream-of-consciousness venting. There’s no real structure for it other than to just get it the hell out of my head so it will stop eating me.This has been a rough year, so far, hasn’t it? So much death and tragedy. Countless lives taken senselessly, great talents ripped from us.

So far 2016 has seen the deaths of David Bowie, Alan Rickman, Prince, and most recently Anton Yelchin. It’s had 190 mass shootings in the United States. Countless black lives lost to police brutality. A seemingly endless list of transgender lives lost (most of them TPOC).

I feel like Jean Grey in X-men: Apocalypse; crying and shaking in bed, “I could feel all this death.”

And I am feeling it. God am I feeling it.

Hearing about Anton Yelchin’s death on Sunday was the proverbial straw and I’ve just been in a tailspin ever since. His death really fucked me up. I was a huge fan. Watching that kid on screen was a goddamn fairy tale dream. I could listen to his voice for hours.

He was twenty-seven years old. I think he was almost exactly a year younger than I was, within a few weeks or months.

When I hear about the deaths of people younger than me, it really messes me up. I don’t know if it’s because I mourn for all of the wasted potential, so much life that was left to be lived, so many accomplishments which will never happen. Or maybe it makes me think about my own mortality, because I never really think of myself dying; I’m too young. It’s probably some combination of both.

But, oh. I’m thinking about myself dying now. And it’s weird to be so triggered by the death of someone I’ve never even met, who I probably never would have met. But it’s not just this one death.

It’s literally hundreds of deaths just in the last six months alone. I can’t log into Facebook without seeing another article about some mass shooting, or another police-custody death, or another trans person murdered for having the audacity to exist. Rapists going free. Child molesters. Religious zealots. Xenophobic would-be war lords (I’m talking about Trump here).

It’s tough to believe that the world is worth living in anymore. And I would never call myself suicidal. I wouldn’t end my own life. I couldn’t. But, I’m not entirely sure that I would care if my life were ended for me, anymore. It’s like I’ve lost my survival instinct. It used to be I thought about the dangers of the world and got that cold sort of shiver, that primitive sense of “DO NOT WANT.”

Now I just think, “Okay. Whatever.” When the world is so fucked up, I don’t really care if I die. I don’t even care if I suffer for that death. At this point it would just make me another statistic, another face on the news, maybe another name to say until the next twenty come out next week.

And it’s like, I don’t want to feel like this. Holy fuckballs, I do not want to feel like this. It sucks on every level. So I’m trying to feel differently. I’m trying to tell myself to not waste my life in mourning.

That it’s not fair to those people who can’t live their lives anymore for me to disregard my own on their behalf.

I’m trying to remind myself to “be the change” I want to see in the world. That if the world is so fucked up, maybe I should try to stick around and help fix it.

But fuck all if it isn’t goddamn hard sometimes.