Weary

Today I want to sleep.

I want to go to sleep and never wake up. To luxuriate in the endless bliss of nothingness. I want to be free from physical pain. Free from exhaustion. I don’t want to feel worried or anxious or guilty or afraid. I don’t want to be fat and old and lost and weary. I just want to rest. To slip into eternal, blissful rest.

My body is tired. I am fit and well. But I am physically exhausted. There is no reason. It just is.

My soul is tired. There is no reason. It just is.

I don’t feel particularly depressed or anxious. I don’t feel sad or teary or stressed or worried – no more than any other day. I just don’t want to be. My psychiatrist would say, “That’s pretty fucking depressed!” Because he’s a straight talker and there’s no confusing what he means. So, I guess I must be pretty fucking depressed. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything much today. I’m just terribly, terribly weary.

Don’t worry. I am not suicidal. I am not unsafe. Please don’t contact the police to track me down and interrupt my day. I am not going to do anything permanent – or even temporary. I am just dreaming of endless dreams.

Today I need to spend time searching and applying for work – we are in dire financial straits and I must find a job. Today I need to clean out the spare bedroom so my much beloved and sorely missed firstborn child can move back in for the next six months. Today I need to clean and tidy. To write more articles. To follow up on my business plan. Contact friends, wash the car and sort out my paperwork. I have no will or energy to do anything.

Today I want to sleep.