It was another bad night, a typical night. I woke up with my hands in pain, like they've been clenched in fists. My jaw aches from grinding. My head hurts from the screaming inside. I'm exhausted, but then, that's not surprising because, for the short periods that I was asleep, my body has been full of adrenalin, running, hiding, fighting.
I go through the motions of living. A smile. Laughter. But I know that it's a fragile, temporary, veneer, held together by sheer willpower. And that the last thing I will think of at night, or the first thing I will think of in the morning, is what happened. And how angry I am, and how helpless and disempowered I feel, how futile everything feels.
Just one day. To sleep, and if I dream, to dream I'm sleeping. To not remember. Just one day. If Lacuna Inc could please exist, and visit me, and erase these memories. Please.
I'm just tired. Being tired makes me maudlin. If I could just not be tired, then the world would seem better... But I am tired, and I know that my hard-fought for sanity is slowly cracking, I can feel the mist of depression sink over me, I know that my grip on reality is tenuous and getting weaker.
Maybe I should go back to therapy. But the last time I did therapy whilst trying to hold down a job, I lost the job. And the job is my only tangible proof that I'm a functioning adult in this world. Without it, I know I would slip beyond saving. And therapy forces me to remember. To remember details that make it more real. I want to forget; I don't want to remember.
I'm just tired.
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