Tiredness

We get born. We grew up in more or less dysfunctional families, and we start searching for our own families, promising we would not repeat the mistakes of our parents. Or, on the contrary, we fully embrace them. Somewhere, we start working, becoming so workaholics that we can’t remember when or how we started this, and since when work is the only thing we really have. We read books, we find a job that suits us, we write PhD.s, ignoring all our social life for something we are not quite sure why we’re doing (and we'll probably end in bankruptcy), we work too many hours, we search for connections in this absurd, meaningless world, although we have been fully aware from the beginning how lonely we are. We work. Swallowing all our words that we want so desperately to scream. We work. Swallowing all the feelings. We work. Swallowing all we want to say if someone asked us how we really feel. Work on our jobs, on our theses, if we still have time, even on our relationships. We work so much and we get so tired that this Tiredness seems a part of us, like that big, black shadow depression used to be represented somewhere on the Internet. So tired that we feel it like part of us, like our limbs. Going with it to bed, waking next to it in the morning, going to work with it, to parties, shopping, present there, every second of our lives. We wait to fall asleep and maybe our brains will forgive and give us a nice dream, like the one sitting next to a friend, looking at a lake. But sometimes not even in sleep Tiredness doesn’t let us be. And one day, just like that, we drop dead, without knowing, without warning.