The Mask Reconstruction: Fatigue

After my brief foray into the world of cognitive psychology, I learned that procrastination is an avoidance technique employed by someone faced with a painful task. Which makes sense in the context of physics assignments and exams, but it doesn't explain why I've started putting off things like eating and writing. They don't really give me as much pleasure as they used to(or any any pleasure at all, really), but can hardly be said to cause me pain. Maybe it's the thinking that I'm avoiding. Every time I go to make food, I have to think about how little we have. And every time I write, I have to think about how lousy my writing is(and there's the small issue of having to deal with my emotions; which is stupid because I've already fallen apart so what's the point of suppressing them?).

 Everything else is hindered by fatigue. It takes me forever to get out of bed, I have to drink 2 cups of coffee to deal with my family and I haven't read any of the books that I borrowed from the library. Anhedonia mixed with this kind of fatigue would probably be deadly if I weren't too tired to be suicidal. For the last month or so, I haven't been able to sleep when I wanted to. I used to sleep in the morning and be able to rest, but it's hard maintaining that sort of sleep schedule when you live at home. I spend a lot of time fantasising about finally getting to rest again. I planned to turn my bedroom into a sanctuary(complete with a lock and effective earplugs), but like absolutely everything else that I want, it simply isn't going to happen. Sometimes I think things will be better when I'm on my own again, but now I'm worried that even if I had my sanctuary, I wouldn't be able to rest. I'm tired of worrying, I'm tired of being angry, I'm tired of being lonely, I'm tired of trying to convince myself that I'm not lonely. I'm tired of hating myself for needing other people. I'm tired of pretending to be okay just so I don't hurt other people with my mental illness. I press on every day because I'm too tired not to.

 I spent the weekend with my best friends from high school. I haven't spoken to them in years and I always feel like an outsider when I'm with them, but they did remind me of why I wanted to be normal. I love them so much, all my friends, and it's hard to see them pity me and try to help me. I told them I was fine, even though I've been too tired to pretend with everyone else. I didn't want them to know how much pain I'm in and that they couldn't possibly help me. I figured that was reason enough to try to pull myself together. It's exhausting living in this house. It's exhausting to know I can't leave. It's exhausting being on my own. It's exhausting being weak and vulnerable. It's exhausting remembering things that I had worked so hard to suppress. I don't know how much more I can take, that's all I think about now: how all my coping mechanisms are breaking down and how I can't take any more.