bearing up

There are so many things in the world beyond bearing…rape and torture and war and hatred and racism but this has set me over the edge tonight

Two year olds who can’t stop scratching the open sores on their legs caused by the fucking owner of the apartment they live in who wants to squeeze the last penny out of his investment and refuses to fix it so it is decent and safe. It is unconsionable, and given that the owner is a good Catholic, I earnestly hope he may rot in hell without hope of purgatory. His name is Frank McHugh so remember him in your prayers. I can’t figure out how on earth you can care deeply about the world and get out of bed in the morning, I am fueled by fury pure and simple but it’s not enough since I have been doing this shit for too long to have much hope – this isn’t the only child in LA with open sores on his legs, not even one of a hundred or a thousand. It makes your heart want to shrivel up and hide away behind walls high and strong and sometimes I wonder if I’m strong enough to keep my eyes open and my heart open and my mind always questioning. How can I bear it? And who would I be if I did not? Not myself…suppose that’s the answer to my own question. I stick all of the pain and anger in a small box back close to my spine, so it won’t interfere with Friday night dinner plans and everything that’s still good in life. Because life is still good, and if you lose your balance I have this fear that it will all be over…and I wonder if there is a bottom?

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