Shadow Over The Joy Of Living

Normally I write and feel better after I do.

I wrote about Jamey Rodemeyer two days ago.  I don’t feel any better.

I feel so bad, as a matter of fact, that it is very difficult to go about writing the way I normally do.

I live my days, take notice of something, and write about it.

It usually makes me pay more attention to a great moment of a day.  Or a great feeling of a moment.  Or helps me work through a maze of feelings about something I’ve witnessed or experienced.

This time I paid attention.  I read.  I watched news stories.  I tried to work through the confusion of this world and times we live in.

I got no satisfaction from writing about Jamey.  None at all.  This makes me feel bad.  Writing about him didn’t do anything to help him.   For this I feel bad.  It’s too late for any of us to help him.    For this I feel remorseful.   I didn’t know him, but have I lived fully in the concept of compassion and acceptance?

I’m just having such a difficult time having written about him, to go on and write about the good things in life.  Of which there are plenty.  But a child feeling so hopeless, helpless and beaten down enough to end his life.

To kill himself.

This puts a shadow over the joy of living.

There’s no way that writing about this is ever going to make anything better.

We have to start doing things.  Differently.

I try for the most part to remain upbeat and positive.  My apologies for not being able to shake this sadness.

He was just a child.