“How are you?”

“Tired.”

“You’re always tired. Are you every anything else?”

No.

No, I’m not.

I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t tired.

I don’t remember a time before

crippling anxiety and numbing depression.

I don’t remember a time before the tired,

and I am not sure you do either,

and for that I am sorry.

I’m sorry that my being tired

is an inconvenience to you,

that my mood affects you.

I am sorry that my battle with mental health,

my battle with the monsters in my head,

won’t give me a moment’s rest

and that continual struggle leaves me tired.

I’m sorry that I am a burden to you.

I’m sorry that I am tired of fighting

and that I’m not always sure I want to

keep on fighting.

My monsters scream at me,

begging me to quit,

eating at my soul

until I doubt everything, I once knew to be true.

They chip away at me

until I don’t even recognize the face in the mirror

to be my own.

They haunt me

and plague my dreams and my every thought,

draining away

until I am numb

and there’s nothing left of me

but the monsters in my head.

I’m sorry that my exhaustion is hard on you.

I woke up late last night

with a blade pressed against my wrist

and a noose tightening around my throat,

contemplating if the dawn

was worth the night.

I was busy fighting an endless war

and painting on this smile for you

when all I wanted to do was lie down

and not get back up again.

I forced myself out of bed

time and time again,

walking down the hallways with my head held high,

and my mask tightly secured in place,

because you gotta fake it til you make it,

right?

Yet inside I can hear screaming

Please

Please don’t hurt me anymore.

Please

Stop

Fighting.

I’m sorry I’m tired.

I’m trying to get through another day,

and conserve my strength

and energy for a night

I’m not sure I’ll last.

I’m sorry I’m tired.

please don’t be angry or frustrated with me.

I’m doing my best,

I promise.

I’m tired because of you, you know,

It’s all for you.

I don’t want to be tired if it helps at all.

I don’t like me either.

I’m the first to think I’m crazy or annoying.

You don’t have to remind me

that I can be a little neurotic,

or that I can be a little much.

You don’t have to warn people before they meet me

and walk them through how to deal with me.

You don’t have to hold my hand across the bridge.

You don’t have to remind me that I am a burden.

Believe me – I already know.

I’m sorry that I’m tired.

I am doing the best that I can

to stay sane,

to stay me.

I learned a long time ago

that no one is going to come save me from drowning –

No Gandalf to charge down the hill to save the day,

No Captain America to rally to my cause,

No Aslan to come and take my place,

No prince in shining armor

No king and his men –

No one is coming to save me from myself.

so I have to put Humpty Dumpty

back together again

with nothing but band-aids and glitter glue

day after day, and night after night,

and it’s exhausting.

I’m sorry that I was tired

while trying to piece

every shattered fragment of me

back together again,

and it left me too tired to do anything else.

I’m sorry that my being tired

is an inconvenience for you.

I’m trying not to rip my still beating heart

out of my chest

like from that scene in Indiana Jones: Temple of Doom.

Though that is how I feel –

Heartless,

yet still going on,

Still breathing,

driven only by a mindless instinct

to survive,

a Zombie,

a shell of who I used to be,

a person I don’t even remember being anymore.

I’m sorry that I was tired

and that I still am.

I am still catching up on sleep

and sometimes the monsters still come out to play,

so I’ll probably always be tired –

but I am still here,

and I thought that would be enough.

I’m sorry that I am not enough.

I would hope that would be all you ask of me.

Please don’t be mad at me for being tired all the time,

for being worn down and sad,

or for freaking out and having a panic attack

in the middle of the hallway.

I am here,

and that is all I can be.

So I’m sorry if my best isn’t enough for you.

I’m sorry that I’m not sorry.

I keep apologizing

for my continual battle,

and it’s not my fault,

It’s nothing I can control.

I cannot always control how I feel or even how I react to things,

I don’t always know what will trigger a depressive episode

or an anxiety attack.

It feels like I’m dying or am feeling everything at once

and I just can’t deal with anything more.

I shouldn’t have to apologize,

I shouldn’t feel the need to apologize –

It is not my fault.

I feel the need to apologize for who I am

out of fear of being abandoned,

or being given up on again,

or being called crazy and having my feeling brushed off

as just another one of my neuroses.

All I can say is

I’m sorry that I am tired.

I’m sorry that trying to feel like a person again,

trying to be myself again,

isn’t good enough for you.

This is the price I pay for trying.

I am still learning how to like me again,

and you don’t have to like me

I don’t need you to like me,

I am the only one who needs to like me.

and until that day,

I will continue to be tired.

I am trying to not be so tired,

to not be crushed under the weight

of all my fears and paranoia.

I will wear this fake smile

Until it feels real,

Until it becomes real.

I will sing and dance even though it is unbearable,

and force myself to try to be who I was.

I know you will never understand,

but I hope at least you’ll try.

I’m sorry that I’m tired,

but I’d rather not lie.

I could say that I am good or that I’m fine

when in truth I am anything but.

I am one crisis away

from falling off the edge

and into the abyss below.

The best I can do right now is tired

as I try to step back away from the edge.

I’m working my way up to fine,

and someday I’ll even be good.

Maybe someday I’ll sleep through the night,

but for now –

“How are you?”

“Tired. You?”