Tired all the Time

Just a quick little fiction piece I might narrate and create one of my films out of. I wanted to share it because I haven’t posted here in a while and am trying to justify the server costs. Take a read if you have a few minutes to spare.

It’s been a while. I am so tired. All the time, so tired. I can’t drink black coffee any more, upsets my stomach too much. I want to spend a day sleeping. I want to spend two days sleeping, even though I know that I will still be tired after. At least I would be two days closer to death.

Shit.

Why am I tired all the time? I just want to feel like I used to feel. But when I think back, I don’t think that was any better. I was just as tired back then too. Maybe something is wrong with me?

Failing my way through life, I need to accept that I am destined to be slightly less than average. I need to learn how to be okay with that and then maybe I will be less tired.

Coffee with cream tastes like watered down coffee.

A latte is better, at least the strength of the espresso comes through. An espresso shot is even better, but then I feel like shit, the strong black coffee turns my stomach to acid.

I miss black coffee.

Maybe I need less coffee. But then I would be worse off.

Maybe I need to stop the pain pills? Maybe?

But then the pain become impossible to stand, and I need to keep putting in my hours. Need to keep fighting. Need to keep the monsters at bay, and I can’t do that if I am in pain.

No one knows what it is like.

I used to think it was normal to be tired and in pain all the time. Used to think everyone else felt this way too. When I learned that others actually didn’t constantly hurt I thought they were lying. When I learned that others were not dead tired all the time I was jealous. Why can’t I just be like them?

It’s not even like I am above average. So why do I struggle so much? Just to maintain a level of mediocrity? Just to keep the debt collectors away and a roof over my family’s head?

I stare out over this wasted city and imagine I can see the forests beyond. Imagine I could pack a bag and walk off into those forests and survive, live off the land. A simple life, maybe then I would no longer feel tired.

Just give this all up. It’s not giving up much.

It wouldn’t last long. The spare tire of fat around my waist has turned into an inner tube. Years of immobility and depression medication has turned me to fat. I could have done it, all those years ago. Back when this started, back when I should have listened to the anxiety instead of choking it down for a normal life like everyone else.

I slam the door shut on the dreams I once had. Face another forty years of this with as much grace as I can muster. At the end I will get maybe a decade of infirmity before I die.

I just want to spend a week sleeping.

I just want to be free.

I just want to stop being tired all the time. I just want a simple life. But even that is too much to ask for. Even that is impossible.

Keep fighting the monsters of reality. Keep donning the armor of the lower middle-class drone. Keep the illusion alive as best I can. Don’t let them see me this way. Keep moving despite being

Tired all the time.

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