**A Warning that this could be a trigger for those who suffered from abuse**
I am tired. All the time. It is the kind of tired that makes my bones want to dissolve into the bed when I lay down. It is more than just a physical tired, it is an emotional tired. This subconscious leaking into conscious is exhausting. It is like living in an internal fog where you walk and you walk and you never know what you are walking into until you run smack dab into it.
It is loading the dishwasher and having a half formed memory slip through that crack between forgotten and remembered, causing you to lean heavy into the sink sobbing. It is the kind of tired that comes from being 38 in body, but 4 or 5 emotionally and all you know is sadness and fear and you don't have a clear understanding of why or what or who. You know enough to know that it is something, but not enough to work through the story. You can feel the weight of it like chains that bind you; but you can't see them or touch them - feel them under your fingertips.
It is waking up from a sound sleep with hands clawed and battle ready, your legs kicking hard. It is knowing that it wasn't a dream that brought out this fight, but a memory that still hides in shadow. It is telling yourself where you are, reminding yourself of the present so you can drift back to sleep only to wake up fighting off the memory that is as dark as the night you are thrashing in.
It is lying on an exam table having your throat pressed on and in your mind you are child being choked, feeling as though you are going to pass out, breath quickening, lip quivering, praying for Jesus to come and rescue you from your mind, because He didn't come rescue your body when the choking was real.
It is riding down the road wondering if you are losing your mind and a memory comes that isn't new, but this time it brings with it the taste of soap and cologne so strong in the back of your throat and on your lips every time you take a breath that you ask out loud what that smell is, but the other in the car can't smell it. It is not wanting to acknowledge where that tasted smellmory is coming from and having to turn your head over and over again to make it finally go away. It is the nauseous clawing in your chest that is fear, sadness, and anger intermingled.
It is wondering if your mind is writing its own story, but it isn't one you want to read, so you tell it to stop, but it won't.
It is wanting to run away from everything that is internal and leave it behind, but you can't. Running away from the depths of you is like trying to run from the color of your eyes -f impossible. You can avoid your reflection for a time, but eventually it is going to be there looking back at you. You can try and hide it, mask it, but masks are only temporary, the reality never changes.
It is being tired, so tired of the fight. The fight to forget alternating with the fight to remember. It is knowing that you need something, but never being able to figure out exactly what that something is.
It is hearing that all you need to do is X,Y, or Z to be better, but you have no idea how to do X, Y, and Z and no one can give you the instructions they just expect you to do it.
It is straining your ears hard to hear hope singing, because sometimes he is hidden deep in the fog.
It is the constant grinding friction of what you know to be truth in all those parts of you that are rational versus what you feel, see, and hear in all the other parts of you that are not so rational.
All of this is what makes me bone weary and I just want some rest.