Exhaustion

Exhaustion

My exhaustion is bone deep slowly seeping into my marrow and rotting it like a cancer threatening to fester into all of my body. Writing this is pain-pure and unadulterated. When I read these words I read them with hollow eyes not of sorrow but of pure weariness. I do not feel as if I need more sleep, no I feel as if I need to close my mind so that way it may rest and not have to think. I am exhausted of this world and I am exhausted of thinking. I am tired of the actions I have taken and the actions I am taking. Everything I do makes me weary as useless energy seeps out of my useless body.

There is truly no way to describe this exhaustion as it is not a physical thing but instead the manifestation of my tired mind. Looking back on the past and thinking of myself brings pure disgust by being the person I pretend. Smiling for so long and laughing for so long is so hard to upkeep. Truly I don't know how many of my smiles and how much of my humor is still mine and not just something that I play up to the people around me. Truthfully I am always smiling and I wonder if some have come to realize that there is a reason for that.

By smiling and always seeming fine I can prevent their concern and I can dance around their questions. Yet today I am too tired to play this game and instead, if they have questions I will just meet them with snark. It seems rude but truthfully if they wish to dig into my business then that is their fault, not mine. Looking back at my old writings I wonder if that was even me who was writing. So optimistic and happy about learning simple things and having motivation. The more and more I smile the more I feel that I am slowly losing myself. This is exhausting.

Yet if I stop smiling people will question and if I speak the truth then they will know that the person they know is not the true one but the one I play them. Is this teenage angst? Maybe, or most probably it is teenage angst. Yet when did it become so tiring to be so empty? I feel that emptiness should take up no energy and instead should just be like floating on the water. Yet now that I look at my emptiness I see that instead, it is like a black hole instead of an ocean. My emptiness is slowly sucking me dry of everything I own of myself.

I wonder that if I stopped pretending then would I no longer feel tired? Would I feel more alive and more of myself? If I did what I wanted and spent all my time reading, writing, and focusing on my work would my friends still be my friends? Even then I am tired of myself. I am tired of the role that I gave myself in this terrible play. I told myself that one day I would publish this and that people would read my words yet that sounds so exhausting. To let people see my innermost thoughts and slowly piece my life together is like letting people treat me like some grand ten thousand-piece puzzle.

This exhaustion is plaguing my mind and I pray to the heavens above that it will finally leave my weary soul behind. Maybe by writing my truth some of this fatigue will leave my heart and it can pump blood fast once again. Or maybe that is a fever dream and I will continue slowly sinking into the emptiness which just keeps pulling me down.