hope for water

Life

has become increasingly fast. I finished my degree and time slowed for a minute, but of course, my anxiety heightened, and so it really didn't slow. It suspended, every once in a while, in moments of dissociation and derealization. Moments I wanted to tear my hair out, but couldn't move, and so the sensation formed as a stomach ache instead.

This

is so much. I've entered my career, which has turned into the most nauseating, frustrating, and stressful weeks of my life. I shared with a colleague that I have some thoughts that are degrading. (Why would I use that word?) She asked if that's a personality trait, and of course, I said it is. Because the last time I was in the field, I had nightmares that I was screwing up royally, getting kicked out, getting berated.

But

this really isn't what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about things that have nothing to do with work, and everything to do with everything else. I wanted the next time I came on Vocal to be this great moment of clarity, writing something that felt good, writing about the things that keep me up at night that have nothing to do with my competence. I wanted to write about

so

many things. About how the world is crooked. More than crooked, it's cracked open. Growing up is realizing that a long time ago, the world opened up and released all of the evil on the world. That real evil isn't limited to Hell, it's here on Earth, often hidden in unsuspecting hearts, somewhere dark.

I wanted to write about how the universe is geared to hate women, and anyone who doesn't look white. Not even "white," but have any kind of tendencies towards anything that doesn't fit neatly inside the common definition of "whiteness."

We're all a bunch of Nazis, whether it's true or the masses just perceive it to be.

I've had a really hard start of being a

woman.

It actually drives me to wish I didn't exist. Isn't that funny? I love womanhood, but I hate it because everyone has ruined it for me.

I've had a really hard start of being someone who doesn't

fit neatly

into the definition of being white. I'm all the usual things. A fourth(?) generation immigrant from a European country. Blonde haired. Straight. Nuclear family.

But religious, to a "non-white" religion. It's a headache,

defending

something as inherently peaceful while everyone around you deems it to be violent. Then

protecting

yourself against the elements of your community that actually fit that stereotype. How

exhausting

is it to constantly defend, protect, and fight against the same thing. Not exactly the same, but elements within it. How troubling it is for your peace, trying to

fit somewhere

in between extremism and laziness. A seemingly impossible task. And I can't complain because I still fit the whiteness label enough that I have gathered

privilege

even though I am a woman. I collect it and hold it close to me because I know it's valuable, not just for myself, but for the people I defend, the voices I trust my heart and lips to carry. I want the best for them. But I make an awful messenger.

.

.

So

let

go.

Is that it? Many people seem to think so. Let go of how your (chosen) religion is hurting women in the East. Let go of how the women in your neighbor's yard are preaching about following a man who would take away their rights if it would give him more power. Let go of how the newest technology is wiping humanity away slowly, figuratively and literally. Let go of how the world is geared to hate you, no matter who you are. Let go of how your children will grow up with so many eyes on them, they don't understand what it means to feel powerful. Let go of the fact that your pictures will end up somewhere online, stripped of all dignity, or doxxed. Let go of these worries because you don't know the future. Let go of how you feel so helpless, but know it is not in your capacity to help. The pain in your stomach, your head, and your ears remind you of this every time you have an exhausting day at work.

You're not enough.

So what are we doing?

What did I say? That I wanted the next time I came on Vocal to be this great moment of clarity? Writing something that felt good? Writing about the things that keep me up at night that have nothing to do with my competence?

Where do I even

start

?

There's not enough time on this Earth to fix the problems that I want to write about. And even if there was, are we competent? Can we make it happen? I want to have faith that generationally we will get better. But we still have lynchings, assaults, rights becoming impossible-to-earn privileges.

The thought is

exhausting.

It's exhausting to

think.

So why even bother.

If I can't write for clarity, I'll write incoherently.

And hope someone understands my message

that this world is on fire, and the heat is exhausting, even though the flames

haven't touched

me yet. I cry for those who have burned, but it feels as though there is no

hope

for water.