This is the last (maybe?) in a collection of essays that I have felt compelled to write and/or finish for some time. Diving deep into some of the darker aspects of this journey - anger, guilt, self-pity, difficult elements of Kara and my relationship, abject sadness, and then some.
I wrestled with how to present this essay to the public, or if I even wanted to share it at all for fear of how responsible or irresponsible that might be. But recovery from anything - loss, trauma, addiction, mental or physical health issues, or just life in general, can sometimes be daunting and overwhelming to the point of wanting to give up.
I still feel that way from time to time. I think we all have or eventually will, but maybe don’t share it with others. But I want others to know they are not alone if or when they feel that way. So here’s my share. Also please remember, we can and do get through it.
Part 5: I’m Tired
August 2024
More often than not, I reflect a brave face in my public writing. But that’s not always the countenance I see in the mirror.
When it comes to getting back up and moving forward again, I talk a pretty good talk, and I’ve managed to walk a fairly decent walk, too. But I’m tired. Luckily, there’s no three-knockdown rule in life. However, if the powers that be were to squarely land another haymaker again at this point, I don’t know if I would have the energy to find my feet. Right now, I feel like I would stay down. I’ve written ad nauseam about resilience, always choosing life and love, and that the struggle back is ever worth it, etc, etc.
And I believe it all - it’s not just lip service. It’s gotten me through and it’s gotten me here. And you know what? I’m content to have made it here. I feel like I’ve done a lot with my life. I put this mortality suit through its paces and it’s been able to participate in some epic and meaningful shit. But that suit, and particularly its occupant, are weary from the series of taxing battles waged to keep them both in good standing with the land of the living.
I have no wish to die and I’m not biding time until my number is called. I still love life and am hoping to see this one happily through. But currently, my eyes are tigerless, having spent all of my energy and drive on survival and some semblance of prosperity time and again.
Over the last handful of years, life has become an ever-tightening cycle of agony and ecstasy, responsible for repeated instances of whole-entity whiplash with consistently diminishing refractory periods between events. It’s exhausting, and at this point, I have no calories left to expend on a competitive drive, nor do I possess any hunger to attain any of our society’s benchmarks of “success.” Let alone the emotional fat stores required to endure another soul famine. I am depleted.
I want nothing more than some ease and peace. It is my sincerest wish that the fates allow me to strengthen to the point of defensibility before I’m required to square off again. Because right now, I wouldn’t make it through another standing eight count. I’m too tired.
For John, and everybody else who was never provided the luxury of getting to be tired.
The Dark Corners Part 1: It’s All Over
The Dark Corners Part 2: The Pink Elephant in the Room
my eyes are tigerless. wow that's great.
Wonderful thoughts, Adam. I'm tired too. Losing my wife to cancer was the hardest thing I've ever faced in my life, times a million. The experience of it had a weight that smashed me into the dirt, and that's where I am today, two years later, with little to no energy to reform. I'm not waiting for the end, thinking my life is over or biding my time until the inevitable kerplunk. But I don't feel like I'm really living, either.