Miscellaneous Mental Musings of an Emerging Artist
The truth is that I passed my threshold for these stories several days ago. These stories of people begging for the vaccine as they’re intubated, these stories of people finally advocating for vaccination after watching their family members slip into unconsciousness and never return, these stories of people who “thought they knew,” who “misunderstood,” who “believed a lie,” these people screaming at teachers and school board members and healthcare workers that the definition of “America” is a right to behave irresponsibly and feel superior about it, of people sending hundreds of dollars to grifters and sociopaths who tell them that pushing back against sound and proven-effective public health policy is the Good Fight, of people who are literally marching to their own graves singing proudly of their integrity, of people who are dying cruelly and taking others with them as they go.
Here in this blank space past my threshold, I wrestle with the well of anger, of spite, of disappointment, of something that is quite possibly hate living within my heart.
And I feel more defeated still.
To know that these stories.
Have driven me here.