I’m usually a pretty positive person. At least, I try to be. But lately I’ve found it more and more difficult to maintain that internal Zen. Is it my insistence on scanning the New York Times daily? Maybe. Probably. I’m an empath, so reading the news for me is a little masochistic, but there’s so much going on all the time it feels like the least I can do is read about it.

Have you heard? Thousands of people lost their lives this past week due to natural disasters—and even though they’re people I might not have otherwise thought about, in a lot of ways, we’re the same. And just because they’re located on the other side of the world, doesn’t mean I’m not affected.

It feels…so heavy. That kind of loss is unfathomable to me. So many spirits forcibly removed from so many bodies. After all, it was a stroke of luck that ensured I’d be born in the good ole’ U-S-of-A. They could be me. I could be them. It’s no different. And yet I toil, and go for walks, and waste time, and attend meetings, and play games, and water my plants, and complain about bills—and occasionally, I smile. How dare I.

Is this survivor’s guilt? It’s just so damn devastating. One earthquake. One flood. A handful of minutes. Thousands missing, hundreds swept into the sea or crushed beneath buildings. It isn’t their fault they happened to have been born over there…

I mean, how dare I sit and worry about paying for my 9-year old’s new flooring in his room, or that he’s currently sleeping on the couch while we try and figure out how to afford new furniture—because he’d been using hand-me-down toddler stuff for years and the money tree is on the fritz. How petty. How superficial to stress about these things.

Shame on me for looking at the last few weeks of my life and feeling like I’ve been through any sort of hell at all. It feels…. wrong. I sit here in this shitty IKEA office chair that I often complain about, sobbing into my keyboard and thinking about bills while human beings suffer. I wish my distanced grief were enough to set their tormented spirits free. But alas, it isn’t—and it never will be.

Sitting in an emergency vet’s office a few days ago, I watched impatiently as many shadowed feet passed beneath the door crack of a tiny exam room. I cried, realizing I’ll likely need to put my 14-year-old dog down someday soon—a dog that’s been right there by my side through so much growth. Meanwhile, a massive quake crumbled buildings in Morocco. In an instant, so many lives were lost. families, friends, pets, memories, gone or buried…forever.

And here we are, still decorating our comfy spaces in pillowed floors and rich colors, calling it “Moroccan style” and lighting incense as they suffer—and paying them no mind.

Not even a few days went by before the next disaster: flooding that caused two damns to break in Libya. Buildings fell. Thousands of souls exited this life plane and were poured for the final time into Mother Earth’s ocean.

How long before the next awful thing happens? Another disaster, another terror—a never-ending chain of pain and suffering. Is it inevitable at this point? I wonder if there’s a YouTube video that can teach me how to numb out and ignore all of this, so I can function as expected…

Sometimes I feel like we’re all just waiting in line for our own disaster. Maybe that’s why so many avoid feeling it when these things happen so far away. Maybe on some level, we know we all suffer disasters in some form…eventually. There’s this sort of mass acceptance of the way things are…despite the pain associated. And the darkness keeps returning—more and more often, it seems—the onyx thread that connects us all.

My kiddo has always been into recreating disasters, ever since he was like, three. He’d use my vibrating foam roller and Legos to act out earthquakes, over and over again on the office floor. He’d play video games that allowed him to destroy things. He’d often say to me, “I just like disasters, mom,” and I’d smile—but on the inside, I’d be cringing.

I guess at least he’s conditioned himself for all of this…because the awfulness just keeps coming. Meanwhile, we’re walking around out here shielding our eyes like this is just the way it is and there’s nothing we can do about it.

It seems there truly is “no rest for the weary” on this planet, where the slogan must be something like: “Welcome to Earth: Take a number and have a seat while you wait for your disaster.”

Now, off I go—to work right through the stinging in my heart as I try to convince myself that everything’s fine. Yep, this is completely normal…