Maudlin

I am in great danger of giving in to a fairly spectacular bout of self-pity today. My head aches, my joints ache and I am developing an impressive smoker's cough (I don't smoke.) So far today, I have had no one to talk to as my family have either absented themselves from the house or locked themselves in their bedrooms (and the aforementioned aches make it impossible for me to leave the house and go in search of people. Naturally.) And then beneath these surface irritations lies the fact that my city, my country currently exist under a cloud of fear of riots and looting and fire and violence. Beyond the fear, there is rage and the advocation of the death penalty and the desperate question of Why? Why is this happening? 


I wish I knew. There is no single easy answer, but a lot of hard ones as we see scenes across Britain that are being described as the worst since the Blitz. We are living in a war zone and where is God? I will admit to feeling cross and angry and frustrated at the futility of prayer as the violence did nothing but escalate. I barely slept Monday night, feverishly refreshing Twitter and BBC News for the latest updates. The scaremongering on Twitter got to me and I became fearful and despairing. That tapped very nicely into my anxiety issues from the past, and could have stopped me leaving the house for a week that would have seen me sink ever deeper into a black hole of gloom and depression. I was focusing on the storm, which is far too easy to do. It felt like Jesus was sleeping and everything was hopeless and nothing happy would ever happen again. But then...


Then then, oh glorious THEN, riotcleanup starting trending on Twitter, and thousands took to the streets to clean them. Something of love in the form of community and helping one another came to the fore, and I received a stern lesson in not giving up hope. In the face of that, what am I doing feeling so sorry for myself?