I’m so tired

Morning at the Scotts Bluff National Monument.

I’m tired of life’s interactions. I’m tired of the ruts. I’m tired of the expectations. I’m tired of wanting to do more, but mentally, cannot.

I’m tired and not because my iron levels will never be higher than the low end of normal. I’m not suicidal. I’m not depressed. But I am tired of the every day.

I’ve been working full-time since before I was a teenager. Doing what was expected of me, regardless of whether I felt it was fair.

I’m tired of never feeling like I fit in. I’m tired of worrying what will happen when I do.

I’m tired being on a budget. I’m tired from being tired and missing out while struggling to keep my head above the waters of doubt, rejection and negativity.

A sunflower near the grave of Rebecca Winters in Scottsbluff.

Every day is a struggle to care for the cat with the insistence of peeing around my house. Detergents and chemicals never quite clean it up. The sun bakes in the smell. He’s a good cat, with a problem and no one else would ever take him in. He’d be destined to a crematory if he wasn’t in my home.

It’s a struggle to deal with the rejection letters, the vague comments, the unhelpful replies. Never knowing if your work is good enough, not knowing the right people to further your career along. It’s an 8-year long battle filled with papers full of “no thank you” that weighs me down, pressing on my soul.

I’m tired most days of trying at life. It’s a struggle to just get out of bed in the morning. To face the world. I’m so tired of the insulin and the test strips and the monitoring. It’s an ongoing battle that I know I can’t win, but I fight it every day even though I’m tired of the war.

I’m tired of constantly fighting with my brain, grappling with functioning as a normal person when I clearly am not. The stories jumble inside my brain while rattling around its needs to see me to the end of the day.

I’m tired of the façade.

A beginning at the Scotts Bluff National Monument.

I’m tired of trying to keep up with the world, which doesn’t care if I breathe or not. I’m tired of working even though I’ve got 22 more years before I can quit. I like my job, but it’s a grind some days, a grind that takes nine hours away from writing the things I want. The accolades from strangers get me through the day, but I wish I could show them what I can really do. It’s not in the paper. It’s here, hidden away in my home where no one will ever see. The “no thank yous” keep it tucked away.

I’m tired of being mentally drained every night and not being able to recover in time for the next day. That the weekend is needed to rejuvenate from the week so I can get up on Monday and do it all over again. It’s living on a mental treadmill. There is no way to stop it, only cope.

I’m tired of telling my life story and waking up the next day needing to find new friends because the old ones went away.

I’m tired of being informed and trying to inform others. They really don’t care. Smile nice and thank me for the information, then do nothing to secure their possessions and become angry months, years later when some talking head tells them what’s going on.

I’m exhausted and need about 20 years away from people, in a cabin in the mountains with paper and pen. Or maybe a sparsely populated island where my thoughts can wander. Perhaps and new country where I can breathe, relax and not be tired.

But I press on. My hopes and my dreams are not yet fulfilled. I’m so very tired of this world, but there’s so much more to see.