Madness

This was never supposed to be a blog about crime. It was supposed to be a cute and funny and even slightly rambling blog about whatever catches my fancy. And yet I find myself writing about little else. In the past few days I've been a little afraid of coming onto this site. Partly because I was worried about what I'd write, and partly because what I wanted to write about was so painful that I was afraid to confront it.

So much happens so fast we can't even digest it any more. Two 70 year olds (distant relatives of Rawle's) beaten to death in a house robbery, found with their 6- and 8-month old granddaughters slipping and sliding in their blood. yesteday, a 1 year old and a 3 year old shot accidentally by police in their own yard during a raid. And the political band plays on.

My birthday was 2 days ago. My grandmother, who is 92, called me with her birthday wish: "I can only hope that you live long enough to see your children grow up. That's all I have for you." Then her voice broke. Is this what we've come to? That we no longer can wish each other health, wealth, and happiness, but our only hope is to survive these terrible times?

I need to find some way to stop this spiral of horror and pain that I go through each time something like this happens. I know that I'm not alone; half the country is numb. We hide behind our burglar proofing and pray it won't be us next. We don't let our children play outdoors anymore. But what worries me is my mental state. I'm afraid to read the papers, and when I do, I wind up almost in tears. My response is not that uncommon, but is it normal? Or am I quietly going mad? Is this the beginning of a slide into depression? And if it is, would I be capable of recognising it?