Tired

This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

I’m tired.

I started to write out a list of all of the things I’m tired of, but it’s really hard to articulate.

I’m tired on a physical level, we still haven’t quite figured out what’s making me sleep so damn much.

But I’m also tired of the world.

Tired of the news.

Tired of COVID.

Tired of politics.

Tired of feeling like this country is going to explode over the coming weeks.

Tired of being afraid.

Tired

of being tired.

Tonight, I’m endlessly scrolling facebook.

Knowing I should put some effort into being creative.

Knowing I should

do

something.

But I’m tired.

We had to get up “early” this morning.

Early for me.

Clearing out the spare room and loads of old furniture and boxes in the basement.

Finally turning the spare room into an office.

Something that should have been done months and months ago.

I got so much done in the last 48 hours, but it has left me tired to the bone.

Worn out.

In pain.

I used spoons that weren’t really available to me.

Taking them from tomorrow, and probably the day after that.

I’m tired.

I have family that is so wrapped up in the MAGA lies.

Conspiracy theorists.

I’ve found myself pulling further and further away from them.

Backing away slowly.

Trying to maintain the peace while also maintaining my sanity.

It’s sad.

We were once close.

And now I can’t even be my true self to them.

They don’t get it.

And they have no interest in getting it.

And I’m sad.

All in all, I’m doing really well.

The dishes are done.

The stove is clean.

The trash cans are empty.

I’m not really

depressed

but I still don’t feel like I’m

living.

I’m stuck in this web of exhaustion that is taking over my entire body.

We’re decreasing my nightmare med, hoping that helps.

Trying to walk a fine line, keeping me nightmare free,

while hopefully releasing me from the grips of this exhaustion.

I’m tired.

I’m ready for this phase of my life to be over.

I’m ready to move on to where we can see each other again.

To where my calendar isn’t blank for days and days.

I’m ready to have enough energy to return to some sort of work.

I’m ready to make my own money again.

I’m ready to see what’s next.

I’m tired of what is now.

I’m tired.

He’s a human

This is a Really Real Trauma post.

I had more dreams about my dad last night.

I’m doing some serious processing around his death, how he died, how he lived, etc.

In these dreams he was actually human.

Like, he actually admitted he was fallible.

He admitted that he had fears.

He made a mistake in the dream, and my whole body tensed.

I was waiting for the explosion.

I was waiting for him to find some reason to blame it on me.

But he didn’t.

He laughed it off and said it was a silly mistake.

We’d just start over.

That night he had gone to bed without taking care of his hair.

I have no idea what that means, really,

but he woke up with a head full of frizzy hair that was standing on its end.

He said he’d have to shave it to fix it.

I told him I had shampoo that would help make it curly again.

He said “The only thing more fearful than shaving my head, is using weird shampoo.”

My dad used the same soap and shampoo for as long as I can remember.

When his old style herbal essence (in the green bottle) was being phased out, he bought a case of it, and was very grumpy about switching to their new product.

He used Zest, but only until the bars were half used. Then they ended up somewhere in a drawer to be used in the shower, or something.

Maybe just to fill up drawers, they were everywhere in his house.

When someone around me gets hurt, I laugh.

Not because I’m being an asshole,

not because I think it’s funny,

but because I’m anxious.

It’s a nervous laugh.

I’m waiting for the explosion.

I’m waiting for the yelling and the screaming.

I’m waiting for it to be somehow blamed on me.

He was such an abusive asshole.

And he never realized it.

He treated everyone around him like shit, to the point that I know I’m having a dream because he’s acting human.

Instead of acting like a monster.

But monsters are fictional.

And he was really, really, real.