*insert the most deep, long-suffering sigh you can possibly imagine here*

'Cause I'm not a fighter/I haven't been for a long time/Lying and saying I'm tired when people ask me if I'm alright

Song in the Subtitle: Good Grief by Leanna Firestone

“I’m so tired.”

“I’m fine, just tired.”

“Oh gosh, I’m just so tired!”

I have always prided myself on being eloquent, on having the right words to say, knowing how to express myself. It was all very cerebral, I could tell you what I was feeling and why I was feeling it. If you pushed me hard enough today, I could probably do the same. But don’t, because I’m tired. (But please do, cause everything is festering inside my mind all alone and I need it out out out.)

But over time, what I was feeling became too big. Too complex. Necessitated too many follow up questions, too many looks of concern aimed my way. So I made it smaller, more digestible. Instead of ‘I’ve been feeling so depressed, living in this house is a nightmare, I don’t know much much more I can stand it,” it becomes ‘Oh, I’m good, just feeling a bit tired,” with a false smile slapped on and some kind of follow-up joke for extra measure.

Maybe some people can see through it, if we’re close enough. Maybe many people see through it and I’m not as good of a liar I like to think I am. Maybe everyone sees right through me and people don’t care enough to push deeper. (Maybe I don’t want them to anyways because I am actually tired and don’t want to use up energy convincing people I’m okay, that this is normal, that I’m used to it, that it will be over soon.)

(Maybe I do want them to. I am tired, but maybe I’m not okay.)

This is usually the part in the book/show/movie where the protagonist asks for help, because they’ve been doing this alone in their own heads for too long and they’ve finally realized that a) they can’t do it alone anymore, and b) they don’t have to. So they turn to their partner, their best friends, their parents (ew, but good for them I guess), and seek out comfort and support.

I don’t know what I want, what I need, because I was not raised to ask for help, was not raised in comfort or support or hugs or concern or care. So when people try to show up for me, I freeze. ‘What can I do? What do you need? How can I be there for you?”

(I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t knowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknowidon’tknow

I don’t know)

I’ve never known. I’ve never seen it modelled. I’ve never received it. Not when it mattered. Not when I needed it most, when I was young and scared and so alone.

The people who loved me did what they could, but maybe I’m just too broken to be helped. Maybe not knowing what I need is part of the brokenness and I’m just stuck like this now. Forever searching for something that helps, forever coming up empty-handed. Forever freezing up with shame that I don’t know myself well enough to ask for what I need. Forever stuck in a cycle of guilt when I turn down my loved ones’ offers to be there for me. Forever trapped in my own useless head that rarely offers solutions or reprieve, but is flush with guilt, criticism, self-blame, and numbness.

I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know how to end this. It’s definitely not polished, maybe not even ready to post. But I needed the words out of my head, and this seems as good a place as any.