Out of control

That's the way I feel right now, about everything. Everything in my life, everything in the world, seems to be spinning madly… and I am powerless against the forces of the world. There is so much I want to change, so much that is breaking me and tearing my insides apart. So many turns my life has taken in recent months. I feel like my soul has become a wasteland, a dumping ground for the refuse of my life and the lives of those around me. And every day, every moment is too much. It's all too heavy. Sometimes it all seems surreal, and I think the days and weeks have been nothing more than an elaborate daydream. But then, the tears really are moist upon my face; the burning in my gut really does make me ill with sadness and disgust; and the desolate expressions in the eyes all around me reminds me that they are in on it too. They know—they share in the familiar uncertainty and in the hunger for better days. But somehow, these burdens and these particular pains are uniquely mine. I am evermore dragging around the weight of the world like sandbags tied to my arms and legs. And it's so hard, so hard, because I can see how much better it all could be—and I want to fix it, so badly. Fix my own troubles, fix the troubles of the people whose burdens I am bound to help shoulder… But as I said, there is no fixing it, no changing it. All I can do is stand and watch as things turn inside out—stand and watch, and live within the sea of sadness and injustice rising all around me… and wish to God it wasn't so.

That's all I can say.