This week, doesn’t matter how many hours of sleep I get, I still wake up feeling tired. Mentally exhausted. It’s tiring to repeat the same routine day after day. To know exactly what is going to happen in the morning but at the same time not knowing exactly when all this shit is going to end. It’s tiring to convince myself that everything is going to be okay, that things are going to get better, and then having more and more things go wrong in this country.
I try to mask myself under this fake optimism I convince myself, but it’s only a matter of time until the disappointment sets in again. It’s losing the energy to talk to people, even if they are close friends because I am just tired of my life. Sometimes, it feels like the months on the calendar are fading away just like my youth without achieving anything.
It’s tired to bounce back and forth between loving myself and hating everything about myself. I keep trying to put in effort instead of letting the pandemic let me slack. I keep trying to find new ways to grow, but I get back to square one with just a snap. This week it just felt like the weight over my shoulder is just pulling me down that it feels so tired about being me and I could not even find the courage to take in deep breath because that means triggering the pain in my head all over again.
I want
something, but I can’t put my finger on it. I don’t know exactly what it is – a long hug, a loud scream, a vacation break or just being run down by a truck. I’m just really tired.