Thread by @CassieY4

It's really frustrating to not have the right words to explain all this covid/nursing as someone who writes professionally.

When you're a writer you're used to thinking, 'There's some perfect way to explain this experience. If I keep trying, I'll get it right, and people will understand me. I can make this experience universal. I can change lives.'

I keep trying, and there's just...not.

I feel like a whiner. We're merely full, but not slammed. But I can't help but see what's coming for us. And feel how disposable our lives and the candlewicks of our souls seem to be.

I'm like so good at compartmentalizing now y'all don't even have any idea.

But I can't keep hoping that if I say the right thing once to the right person somehow it'll change all this.

Somehow make other people care, make other people stop and think, and get the rest to mask.

I guess that's the stupid 'american exceptionalism' happening in me, that I think that there could be an answer inside of me somewhere that'd actually make a difference.

I guess that's good to have. That eight months of bullshit haven't beat it out.

It's just like a puzzle I can't put aside though.

Why don't people care?

Why can't people care?

Why don't people listen?

How can I make them?

What else is there that I could possibly do to stave this thing off again?

But...there's nothing.

I can't even convince my own parents not to have visitors over this weekend.

I can't even save them.

I feel like a failure, every single day.

I don't understand any of this, and I've made a semi-lucrative side-career out of distilling human experiences into words.

But for all this, for all the malignant ignorance, the harm we've done to our fellow humans, and are still doing every day....

words fail me.