Tired of Fighting. Scared to Stop.
I wake up. Well, I can’t really say that because I don’t really sleep. I have multiple cat naps throughout the night.
But then I try to get up. And there’s a 1,000 pound weight, invisible to ya’ll, sitting on my chest. I can’t move. I can’t sit up. I can barely talk.
The calls and texts will come. “What are you doing today?” “Have you cooked?” “What’s going on?!” You can’t really answer because they won’t get it. They don’t really want to hear that you barely made it to the bathroom without falling. Or the kitchen seemed like it was in another county. Nope, you just lay there and hope they go away.
I don’t fight the monster much anymore. It’s not worth it. I always lose. The meds don’t work. The therapy is really just a bandaid. And I can no longer quiet the voices that say, “it’s over.”
Listen as I try to explain my current state of darkness and why I need to take a short break from my "purpose".