Why The Cost of Being Alive and Well Is Getting Precariously Unaffordable

It took me longer than usual to come up with a title that appropriately describes what I’ve been feeling for the past few months or may even years. And this is definitely not an attempt to collect oodles of sympathy or a blatant scream for help. And even if those were my motives, I can’t imagine how anybody or anything can provide the amount of relief that will suffice.

I just need to know whether or not I’m the loner in this ongoing saga of mental unrest, that’s exacerbated by the inability to propel that once-trusted turnaround, that used to arrive just in time to rescue you from where most of us are now languishing.

The simple things are impossible to accomplish and the shit that used to be hard has been catapulted beyond reach, and so there’s no point in even trying to jump that high.

Nothing makes sense.

The universal language that didn’t need to be interpreted now forces me to find innovative ways to decode, in order to furnish the basic meaning of a life that’s getting heavier to carry by the minute.

Nothing brings pure joy.

Like, no wonder self-help gurus and “happiness doctors” are closing up shop! Those very pricey bullet points that were touted as the ticket to everlasting peace…