I’m going to start this by saying I am in no way suicidal and I am in the care of a very good therapist.

Okay, now that’s out of the way; I’m really fucking tired.

Do you have any idea how heavy a lift it is to get up every single morning of your life feeling like you fell down the stairs and still just get on with living?

I never wake up rested and spry, I never open my eyes and feel good, I never greet the day with fresh excitement.

Every single day is a struggle to overcome the very real, very intense physical weight of the pain my body has decided is my constant companion.

I’m really tired of it.

I’m tired of opening my eyes and feeling the pain flood in.

I’m tired of becoming aware of the pain in my head, neck, fingers, toes, back, hips, legs, arms, etc.

I’m tired of getting up anyway.

It’s such a heavy lift, this pain of mine. Finding joy, cheer, motivation when it’s pressing down on me all the time is a full time constant choice. Not despairing when I am never allowed a moment’s respite is hard fucking work.

I don’t want to give up on life but goddamn some times I want to give in. Fall apart, crumble, collapse, stay in bed for weeks, months, years. Not get dressed, not eat, not shower or plunge or write or paint or walk the dog. Because making the choice to do all those things with the pain along for the ride is really, really hard.

I’ve been doing it for so long and I’m only 50.

I have so much farther to go.

Thank you for listening. I’m really feeling it tonight.