I’m tired.

I say it a lot on here. Sometimes, it’s just an all-purpose, catch all phrase that can mean anything from “I need sleep” to “I just can’t even” and everything in between. Unfortunately, lately, it’s more than that.

I’m tired.

It’s hard. I’m cleaning house and clearing out. I feel like a smarmy used car dealer: EVERYTHING MUST GO! Only instead of gently used pre-owned vehicles, I’m cleaning out my life. And by extension, Shawshank‘s life. Collections, possessions, memories, hopes, fears, plans for the future. Everything must go.

I’m tired.

A well-meaning relative messaged me yesterday on Facebook. She told me she’s sending up a mask for me, priority mail, and oh yeah, move down here and we’ll help you get on your feet. I know people want to help, but I wish I didn’t end up feeling like everyone is pitying me when they do. I feel like everyone is trying to save me from myself. And maybe they are, or maybe their approach simply comes off that way to me. I’m tired of being the talking point, the example, the judged. 

I’m so tired.

Being social is difficult for me; it takes a lot out of me to be “on” with people. In these days of both lock down and locked up, I’m finding that being alone is just as bad. It’s leaving me with that exhaustion that comes with staying late after an early shift. For me, being alone right now is being “on”, but without the audience.

My “tired” is that bone-deep fatigue that comes with having to pretend everything is ok when nothing is ok.