The Wall

I’m tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. That’s the scam. People assume exhaustion means you need rest. Sometimes what you need is an entirely different life. I can sleep for five hours or eight or wake up every three like my nervous system is on some kind of haunted timer, and none of it changes the deeper fatigue. The real tiredness is from carrying too many roles at once while your brain is still trying to process a reality it never agreed to. Dad. Worker. Scheduler. Cleaner. Driver. Cook. Comforter. Problem-solver. Keeper of memories. Holder of everyone else’s grief. And somewhere in there I’m also supposed to be a person. Cute. By the end of the day I feel like somebody scraped me hollow with a spoon. Then the house gets quiet and the emotional part starts. So there’s no real off switch. Just a shift change between physical exhaustion and mental torture. I function. Somehow. But there are days I genuinely don’t know what fuel this machine is running on besides obligation and spite.