Exhaustion

Photo by Kulbir: https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-photo-of-a-weathered-sunflower-in-a-glass-vase-9707959/

We all talk about being tired—I think the American way of life is tired. Busy, busy. But this is not that discussion.

Today, I’m too tired to FEEL anything. Everything is blurred, like being touched through a thick blanket. Grief sure is strange—I’m not sure I could muster a tear. (No, wait, I could, but let’s not.)

I think I’ve felt this way a majority of my adult life. There is an upside—when I come out of it, I see everything as brighter and more beautiful, and I have more joy than most people. At least that’s what I believe. I can’t really know what anyone else feels.

There were times, throughout this oddessey, that I just fell asleep. I think my brain has an off switch. Fortunately, most of the time, I was sitting or lying down and wasn’t injured. It was that abrupt. Once, many years ago when I was caring for my autistic son, I was so tired I made it to the bed, but felt myself let go before I could lie down. Asleep before your head hits the pillow is a real thing.

So today, whether I choose to or not, I will take it easy. I’ve learned not to fight this feeling, but to do what must be done, and let the rest wait. It sounds so simple and basic. Unless you’ve been there, you think you know, but you don’t. Not really.

I think more of us have “been there” than we realize. For all those who are grieving, whose brains and minds, emotions—selves—are so weary that taking another breath feels like too much work, I see you. Let’s take a nap together.

I’ll be more coherent tomorrow.