Tired

I think that writing this here could easily be called cowardly and foolish. If you don’t understand why, rest assured I have many reasons for saying so. At the present moment however, I don’t really care.

I don’t mean this in a spiteful way, but in a tired way.

I’m so tired.

Truly, it would help if I went to sleep. I’m physically exhausted, and I haven’t gotten nearly enough rest lately. But I feel there’s more to it than that.

I feel like I’ve lost something. Why do I never draw anymore? Where’s my desire to write? What happened to my passion for the things I love? What will I do if singing is lost to me, too?

Sometimes it feels as if the world is spinning around me, but I’m standing still. Or maybe not still, but moving too slowly to keep up, like thoughts muddled from a lack of sleep. And everyone else, how are they moving along in time with it all? They say that they’re lost, too, and I think I can see it, but they still seem so sure of who they are.

And who knows? Maybe I’ll sleep tonight and wake up to realize how short-sighted this was. Perhaps time will pass and these troubles will go away the same way a headache dissipates over night.

But maybe not. And honestly, thinking about what that might mean for me makes me more tired than nearly everything else.

So, I suppose I’ll leave this here for anyone to read, without ever really saying what I initially intended, or directly addressing those whom I might actually want to talk to about this. Right now, I don’t care enough to do anything more about it.

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