There came a point when the weight of life stopped feeling like something I was carrying because it’s no longer something I can put down.
It settled into my mind before my feet even touch the floor each morning. I wake up already thinking about the thing that’s hanging over my head. If it isn’t today’s problem, it’s the one waiting next week, and the week after that. The calendar is already full. My mind keeps returning to it, no matter how hard I try to think about something else.
I’m tired, but it’s nothing sleep can repair.
It’s the kind of tired that comes from carrying worry all day and then carrying it through the night. I dream about it, or about themes that resemble something in waking life. I wake up sweating, and I never really rest, because my mind never does.
I keep my phone on Do Not Disturb now. Airplane mode. Silent. Whatever it takes to keep it quiet. The sound of a notification makes my stomach tighten. Someone knocking at the door startle…
