Monday, January 16, 2023



I’m staring at the wall willing for the day to end but it has just begun. I don’t hit snooze because I know I’ll get up earlier if I just let it go. The anxiety will take hold and I’ll panic that I fell asleep when in reality I’ve just been staring. Willing. I talk myself into standing and put on a face that’s not mine. It handles the household. It handles my boss. It handles my coworkers and clients. It smiles and is gracious. It is polite. It is accommodating. The cost is usually the loss of self care throughout the day. Maybe I won’t eat. Maybe I’ll skip my breaks. Not because I’m that busy but because I’m afraid if I rest I won’t be able start again. The weight of this face feels enormous and every time I wear it, it steals a piece of me. I push to return to feeling numb but this push creates the need to wear the face and it repeats again and again.

I’m not tired but I could sleep. I could always sleep. No amount of caffeine or hype can remove the appeal of burying myself under covers and shutting the world away. I’ll lucid dream my dopamine supplement and pray I don’t lose my footing and create a nightmare. 

I feel dramatic. Everything feels dramatic. My problems don’t feel worthwhile. I think about how everyone has something they’re going through and how some of those people are in worse shape than I. It’s this thought that keeps me from reaching out. Some of my friends can see when the face slips. Moments when I thought I was alone but they were paying attention. They get an accidental peek at the agony I lock within. I tell them I’m fine and was just lost in thought. I’m fine. 

I used to drink to help my brain stay numb. Numb is what’s best when everything else feels like pain. Alcohol worked but then it went too far. The first time I didn’t remember my night I had to stop. I need this control as a way to help me feel stable. I can’t be the one to take that away from me. 

I frequently cancel plans I was excited to have. I’ll say I’m sick. I’ll say I made other plans and forgot. I’ll say my dog got sick or that my grandma is going to the hospital again. I’ll feel guilty for an hour or so and kick myself for letting someone down until I have no energy left when there was precious little to begin with. I’ll sit and click the Netflix button and lay down, forgetting to eat as I watch a show I’ve seen a dozen times. I won’t laugh at the moments I used to find funny. I’ll fall asleep on my couch because I can’t walk to the bed.

They say I play a coward’s game. I say they don’t know what it’s like in the trenches. This is war and I’m not sure if I’m winning or losing. I almost think it’s the same thing. It’s a downward spiral that pulls faster and faster the further I fall. That face I wear fights against this constant pull while I hide inside. It’s not winning or losing; it’s just easier.

No comments:

Post a Comment