My eyes droop. They’re heavy and uncomfortable.
My body feels like lead. I haven’t moved for what seems like hours, each limb still.
The TV is off. I’m not interested. My eyes glance around the room… noting the toys out of place, watching the cat as he curls up for sleep.
I’m tired. But I can’t bring myself to go upstairs.
I don’t want to spend another night with my head churning through its concerns and worries.
I don’t want to spend another night wishing I felt in control of myself and my life.
I don’t want to worry that I’m no good at my job any more.
I don’t want to wish I wasn’t going to work tomorrow to face all that I haven’t managed to finish yet.
I don’t want to undress and catch sight of my large, soft body in the mirror. I don’t want to think about all the thingd that I shouldn’t have eaten.
I don’t want to get into my empty bed wishing that there was someone to hold me tonight, just to make me feel less alone. Less worthless. Less ugly.
Tiredness pulls me one way. Anxiety pulls me the other.