Exhaustion Comes In Many Forms

I'm having one of those nights that I think we've all had at one point in time or another. Where a wave of completely crippling exhaustion washes over you and you can't recall ever feeling so tired in your life. But at the same time, you really can't think of a proper word for it; tired or exhausted seems to fall short. 

Tonight, for me, this exhaustion goes beyond just physical exhaustion, though its presence is certainly felt. I feel emotionally, mentally and spiritually exhausted as if something has squashes all of the energy out of me like grapes in a juicing vat.

 I know part of the mental and emotional exhaustion comes from the inundation of just... absolute awfulness on the news, and on social media. The constant conflicts that I find myself wandering into simply by civilly voicing my opinion. Of having to constantly defend my right to have my opinion, to believe what I do, to exist. 

I suppose it's only natural spiritual exhaustion would follow, when surrounded with an environment of so much hate and anger and turmoil.

As to the physical exhaustion, that I've done to myself. I've been borrowing spoons for nearly three days now, as my dad had to have an operation and will not be allowed to do his normal household stuff for two weeks. So on top of what I typically do, to which I have down to a science of spoon cost, I now have quite a lot more to do on top of it, and I'm at such a huge spoon deficit right now I don't know how I'll ever pay it back any time soon. 

My body is letting me know quite severely that it's unhappy with what I've been doing via a drastic uptick in pain, so even though I want to sleep - desperately need to, in fact - I can't, because painsomnia is a bitch like that. 

But really, I'm the only one who can pick up most of his slack while he's down. My mom already runs her ass off doing stuff, adding more onto her shoulders would not only be monumentally unfair but I'm certain it would have her on crutches at the very least in no time. 

As to my brother.... he could help, certainly. But he doesn't. Or at least has yet to. We'll see in the remainder of the two weeks, but I don't have high hopes. When it comes to pitching in with housework he tends to have more excuses than a pregnant nun in confession. I don't deny that he is in pain. But who the hell isn't, in this house? I fight back tears while I clean the kitchen and sweep the floor, and then don't bother fighting them when I take our dog out to do his business because it's the one place no one will notice them. But to him, his pain is always the most important and the most severe, screw anyone else. 

It pisses me off to no end. 

Anyway. I just. Needed to rant and vent a little bit. Thanks for reading and if you're a new viewer to my blogs, feel free to peruse older posts. 

Jade