seeking rest.
I have been tired for a long time. Not all my life - because I still remember a time when I was excited about life and the possibilities it had for me. But that was a long time ago. Now? I am exhausted, unmotivated and depressed.
I read this article about burnout recently. The author believes that burnout should be treated as a mental condition rather than just physical exhaustion and I agree. I’m burnt out, dear reader, and the tiredness is deep in my brain. I don’t know when it happened, but one of the biggest effects burnout has had on me is my attitude/relationship to work. Before, I could find reasons for work. Like - “this is why we should work and blah blah blah.” But now, I am completely averse to the idea. I get mentally and physically exhausted just from hearing about work. People talking about earning money makes me tired. Coming across "career development" tweets is my worst part of the internet. Somebody abolish tech bros please. I am begging.
Another byproduct of burnout/depression spreading its roots in my brain is a lack of clarity. It’s becoming increasingly hard to understand myself. Why am I doing certain things? What am I feeling? Sometimes, I get so confused, I start panicking. Nothing seems clear anymore. I have always been an impulsive person, but now, there’s no sense of direction. Imagine yourself in the middle of a dark room with the only source of illumination being a slice of moonlight through a gap in the curtain. Imagine seeing shape-shifting shadows in that slice and not knowing to make of them. Imagine the shadows reaching out and slowly running their hands all over your elbows, the back of your neck, and knees. That discomfort you’re feeling right now is constantly sitting with me. I am not at home in my body, which is a different kind of scary because where else am I supposed to stay?
I wrote something a while ago, and it is a reflection of my mind state right now. Let me show you real quick. It’s called “9 past 10” because that was the time on the clock when I finished writing it.
Last night, for some reason, I remembered the first time I made up a story. It was 2006 and I was a tiny 7 year old watching his younger siblings in the midst of a blackout. The doors were closed but the windows allowed several slices of moonlight. They were bored and asked me to tell them a story, so I made up one about a man who ate so much eba in one sitting that he constipated. They loved it so much I had to retell it many times over the next year. It was also the first time I felt in charge, manipulating words to create a scenario from scratch. Words have never failed me - not until now.
Words are failing me, dear reader. And for that simple reason, I’m going to take a writing break. I am not sure what I am going to find, but I am seeking rest. I want things to be clear in my head.
I’m a bit upset I haven’t gotten past that stage. Instead, I have gotten tired-er. But as much as I want to, I cannot give up on myself. It’s the curse of our inbuilt survivors instinct, I think. I intend for this writing break to be a total internet break - it’s so stressful consuming all this information without a screen. I also plan to give therapy another chance. I think I have found an affordable means.
Anyways, thank you for being here, dear reader. I started this as a means of venting and trying out my silly story ideas and you have been holding my hand through it all. I get happy when I see comments about how my writing helps or makes people feel less alone. I love that. You also make me feel less alone. We’re basically married and in love now. I have to be a deadbeat spouse and disappear for a while now, but wait for me. I am trying to get better for you, my love - hopefully it’s worth it.
Cheers, until next time.
Oluchukwu,
Something Else.
P.S: I deleted a lot of my old stuff here in a random fit of impulsiveness and confusion (the worst combination ever). However, I archived them here in case you want to go back from time to time x
