My roommate and I were both up late. We had the Christmas lights plugged in and a candle was lit. We knew we should just go to bed. I don’t know what she was thinking. I just haven’t had the motivation to do anything lately, so I was probably trying to talk myself into getting up off the couch. But I continued to stare at the ceiling.
She sighed, “I’m so tired.”
I said the words without thinking about it. But hearing them come from my lips, I felt them resonate in my soul. Those two words were probably the truest words I had said in days. Or maybe weeks. Maybe longer.
I’m not physically tired. Actually, I’ve been getting the right amount of sleep and haven’t had problems sleeping, which feels a little odd. But sleep, or lack there of, hasn’t been an issue.
But I’m tired in all of the other ways. I’m tired of classes. Of homework. I’m tired of people. I’m tired because there’s people all around and yet they all feel distant. They’re there, but they’re not really there. I’m tired of having to sleep. Of having to wake up. I’m so tired of my job and my boss. I’m tired of thinking ahead. I’m tired of feeling sad and irritated. I’m tired of making food. I’m tired of eating. I’m tired of the way the days pass by– just this endless stream that never stops, that never even slows. I’m tired of the way I just exist through it all. I’m tired of bad things happening. I’m tired of not discussing anything with anyone. I’m tired of feeling bad. Of not knowing what to feel. Of not knowing what to say. Of not knowing what not to say. I’m tired of feeling like I’m sinking. I’m tired of feeling like I have to be one thing or the other. Honestly, I’m tired of being me.
I’m just so tired.