Are you tired? Do you know what it’s like to try to sleep, only to toss and turn? And then sleep fitfully, only to waken early to answer nature’s call? Do you shuffle through the days, dreaming of your next caffeine fix? Do you long for another world because the thought of continuing on this way is just too exhausting to contemplate?
Have you been there?
I’m there, too. In the first Addams Family movie, someone asks Wednesday what she’s dressed as for Halloween; she replied, “I’m a homicidal maniac. We look just like everyone else.” And so it is with folks suffering from chronic conditions: we look just like everyone else, but oftentimes we’re dying on the inside. For myself, I have a cocktail of maladies which each contribute to an overwhelming exhaustion. I have thyroid disease, anemia, sleep apnea, and insomnia. I try to compensate for these things through a variety of means: vitamins, supplements, medicine, a CPAP machine, and caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine. There are days when I can easily consume half a gram of my favorite alkaloid. Beyond that, when one is this beyond tired, the body tries as one of its strategies to replace the lost rest, to fill the energy gap with food. I’ll eat things I don’t normally eat, hoping I suppose to top off. Even as I write this I’m slouched in my chair almost Stephen Hawking-like in my posture. Writing is as much an emotional endeavor as it is an intellectual one, and I’ve not had any emotional energy to spare. So the very thought of stringing words together in some kind of cohesive, cogent manner just makes me want to run away and cower in fear.
I just don’t have what it takes right now.
And I’m afraid I never will again.
This is why it’s been so quiet around these parts. I mean I used to love it here. I loved sitting down and writing. I loved the interaction with readers. But I feel like my mojo has exited stage left.
I feel like a shell of my former self. I mean I’m getting through, but it’s not fun. Don’t misunderstand: I don’t feel depressed, but I sure don’t feel like myself. It’s far easier to kick back, and watch TV than it is to make these words march across the page. To actually do something creative. It used to be fun! What happened to that? Where is that guy? I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be him. Then again, I figure that’s okay: he’s still here. He’s just passing through a difficult season right now. He’ll be back. He’ll find purpose again.
Jesus isn’t done telling his story yet. Else why does He allow him to continue on?
His grace is sufficient. <–I’m holding onto that. And if anyone tells me this is my best life now, they best get acquainted with fisticuffs fairly quickly. ‘Cause Homie don’t play.
Would you look at that? The words are still there. Who would have thought?
Bless you for reading.
How do you deal with your tiredness?