Sand in the Tank

I feel like hell.

I swear, I think I have been bone-tired for 10 years.

Part of it is, of course, the 5 years of crazily bad health combined with “yes you STILL have mono” in the mid- to late aughts. Not good for a body to go through. But another part of it is emotional, because even when my body was (is?) a wreck, I was able to do a lot more than I do now.

It’s often frustrating – nay, almost infurating – when the articles and thinkpieces and memes on self-care and self-nurturance float through my screen. It’s frustrating because I’ve been struggling with how to refill my waaay depleted well of creative and emotional energy, and I swear I have tried everything that anyone has ever suggested that I had access to. More often than not they backfire on me. I’m left worse off: drained, or hurting, or feeling like something is sorely amiss, or at the worst…some memory resurrected in a really bad way. Even the ones that don’t backfire don’t do anything. Like, nothing.

It has gotten to the point where I really, truly believe there is the equivalent of sand in my mental and emotional gas tank. I don’t know what exactly the “sand” is, but dammit I am GOING to get to the bottom of this.

Uh. Pun not intended.

So I apologize for any weirdness. Chalk it up to the fact that my pistons are skipping.