Musician, Heal Thyself

I’d love to take credit for the title of this post. Alas, I borrowed it from an episode of NCIS: New Orleans.

I’m failing in getting better, and I’m tired of trying. The trying is exhausting. I am drained, frazzled and frayed. And, disappointment dogs my movements. Discouragement is in massive supply, while hope is scarce.

I know that wishing and hoping to get better isn’t enough, which is why I keep taking the meds and I keep meditating and I…try.

And, then, I try just accepting that this is it; it is what it is. But, while I’d gladly go to bed and never rise again, it’s more difficult to get others to be accepting of that. So…

So…yeah. And, another sigh joins the countless others that have gone before it.

All I Am Is Tired

I don’t like life. The always-struggle. Going to bed exhausted. Waking in pain, still exhausted. The ever-failure. Aching. Longing for rest. For ease.

Yesterday, I posted about my endeavour – my obsession – to rid myself of the despised American accent. Today, I don’t want to have to think so hard before uttering a word. Or, better yet, I’d rather not have to utter a word – or a breath – at all.

My body is exhausted. My soul is weary. All I am is tired. I have nothing to give today but pain and frustration. No energy even to scream MAKE IT STOP. No energy left to finish this post…

…

When I feel like this, I just want to withdraw. I find human interaction exhausting and stressful. When I feel like this.

I’ve felt like this most of my life. I enjoy the times when I don’t feel like this, but I can’t control when I do and when I don’t; that would be too convenient, and life can never claim convenience.

Uncomfortable. Life can certainly claim that one. I do not understand anyone who would rather live to fight another day instead of choosing death (if either thing could be chosen, and therein lies my problem) and, therefore, a peaceful end to the war.

I would choose rest every time. I’m so tired.