Happiness, from an exhausted person’s perspective

Right now, I feel even too exhausted to write this. Feels like I’m at the last stretch of a marathon and having to use a lot of energy to put one foot in front of the other. But really, I’m trying so hard to use my brain to think of words and to hold my body up in order to type. My body and mind say, “No”. I’m telling it, “Come on, try a little harder. You can’t live your life like this.”

I can’t say I’m miserable or depressed in the normal sense. Just exhausted. And being exhausted is a special kind of unhappiness.

I feel alone. I feel like I just need someone to give me that boost so that everything doesn’t feel so difficult. Truth is, I’ve accomplished something today and I’ve learned to pat myself on the back for every baby step I make. I’ve learned not to beat myself up over the things I wished I was doing. But I still feel exhausted.

Some people live their lives dragging themselves all the time and are okay with it. They stay up all night, take a lot of pills and go through their work like zhombies. I haven’t been able to be okay with it. What rewards them to continue living their lives like that? I don’t know. I don’t have it. For me, I fluctuate between being in a persistent state of low-grade but tolerable misery or just being semi-dead and feeling nothing. Even when I feel like a zhombie and feel “okay”, it eventually catches up with me. Low-grade but tolerable misery becomes a little less tolerable.

I want to be happy. What do I mean by “happy” in this context? I want the lack of this tightness and discomfort in my body. I want my body to be lighter. (I do have some sort of cold or flu right now, so the tightness in my body is worse than usual.) I also want to be up and doing things without everything hurting. When you’re exhausted, everything “hurts” more. Everything feels more stressful. Some tasks in life are always going to be unpleasant, but exhaustion amps up the unpleasantness. Dragging, dragging, dragging, and your body’s always saying no.

I wish life was simpler.

I fantasize about a simple life.

A relaxed environment. No more strain. Very little strain.

I’m always straining.

I want things slowed down.

Less information. Less to think about. Less noise. Less clutter.

I think maybe this has partly to do with my sensory sensitivities and partly because my brain doesn’t filter out mental clutter in the same way it doesn’t filter sensory clutter.

Someone down the hall is playing some South-American music. I have to admit, it’s killing me a little. South-American music is some of the hardest music for me to listen to. It adds to sensory clutter.

Mental strain and noise is just as bad for me. I don’t want to think and organize my thoughts. Don’t want to look at a bunch of words on a cell phone screen.

I do it because I have to, but the misery builds up.

I want to relax. I want that magic key that fixes everything. I want life to be pleasant. I think it’s b.s. that people believe that life is supposed to be miserable with a dash of a drunken weekend or occasional vacation to make up for it.

I want to be somewhere where I can “relax”. Where my body can let go but still have energy to feel alive.

Published by illnessislife

Sick of being so sick I can't live life. But it's been so long like this that I accept it. Illness is life. I have no other life.

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