Brave New Echo Chamber

Since November 9th, I’ve felt I’ve lived in an even deeper echo chamber. Yelling out loud to no one. Spinning out of logical control. Being the wobbly toddler who’s trying to make sense of the world as it juts violently beneath my feet. I’m anxious wanting to be heard. I’m tired in need of a listening ear and a page or two of the last sheets of a filled notebook. In two weeks time I have navigated the unanswerable questions of my faith. I’ve fought in comment battles willingly. I stopped caring about feelings, including my own. I’ve wondered what the world would bring today as it cried, as it did when Prince died. My belly has been filled with knots and misdiagnosed anger. My trust lays broken. I’m wondering who and what to fight next with sprained wrists holding up tight fists. So many things make no sense while being completely predictable. And I’m left screaming in my echo chamber, hoping my look of angst will cause enough curiosity to ask if I need to talk.