I am so tired these days, tired beyond any of the words I could ever hope to fill this page with. My bones are exhausted, every muscle is spent, every neuron in my brain is overshot, my soul is in tatters from the constant fight to stay alive and try to make it to the next day. Every night, I languish in an emotional roller coaster that fills the cavity where my heart once resided, now banished to a place where it only occasionally sees the beauties that the light of day illuminates. I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling, pills blunting but not stopping the blows of every horrible thought you could imagine.
Seeing the loved ones I have lost.
Seeing mothers grieving and screaming over the bodies of their dead children.
Seeing the faces of so many helpless people begging me to intervene, and being so afraid to fail them.
Seeing the things I have done to myself to numb the pain, the things that leave scars on my body and in my mind.
Not seeing an end to all of this pain and suffering.
It all makes me so tired.
I remember once being a man, a man of purpose, a man of action, a man exclaimed, a man proud of his accomplishments, a man thanked, a man blessed, and a man people turned to for help. Now, I all I see in the mirror is whatever shell is left over when that flame, that burning passion, has been snuffed out. I see my face covered in ash, remnants of a life now burned down to dust and embers. What am I supposed to build with this field of cinders? What new edifices can I build with the stumps of once great and towering trees? How will I till this land when all that is left are the vultures that pick over the tattered remnants of my life, the crows that look into my soul and see it lacking, and soil left barren by the salt of endless tear-filled nights?
I wanted to change the world, and I felt like I was on top of it all. I could move mountains with with my words, I could part oceans with my tongue, I could inspire with my passion, I could will the world to change with my mind. How much was madness and how much was me I will never know; these diseases, these diagnoses, these labels are so intertwined with my personality that I will never be able to tell if my hands move because I will it or the demons tell me so.
I am slowly trying to make a sandcastle with these ashes, but the going is hard. Every day, it seems like a new wind comes to blow away what I make, and another day is lost trying to move forward.
But that’s just it, I am always moving foward.
Every day, no matter how much pain I feel, no matter how much I lose connection with reality, no matter how hard I cry, no matter how deep I cut, no matter how much I scream at the birds yelling in my head, I keep on going. I must.
I cannot let this beat me.
I know that I can have a life, a better life, maybe even a glorious one.
I can find something worth living for, something worth giving everything for, instead of just another reason to die.
I know that maybe this moment of clarity will not last, and I know that I will always suffer; but I hope that one day I will learn to live with all of this. I know that I will never control the demons that scream at me to do horrible things, that I will never quell the beasts in my chest that stampede and rob me of sleep; but I know that I can learn to make it a little better. I know that one day, it’s possible that I can live a happier life.
I am so tired of all of this, all of this constant sorrow and suffering.
So I am going to do something about it.
I am going to keep on putting the work in. I will let myself heal. I will get to a place where I can once again help heal others.
I am tired, but I know that one day I will wake up and this will be just another memory.
Tomorrow always comes, and I will do everything to make sure I seize it.