i'm tired

but i'm still here

Lately, I’ve been running on fumes. The kind of exhaustion that isn’t just physical, but existential, a slow drain that leaves you wondering when, exactly, being alive started to feel like a full-time job.

I’m tired.

Tired of feeling like a joke.
Of not being taken seriously by the people around me.
Of letting every inch of life be squeezed out of my body.

I’m tired of feeling lonely.
Tired of not having friends to spend time with or who want to spend time with me.

I’m tired of not having enough money to live in the city I grew up in. I can’t afford it on my full-time salary, but I work too many hours to even consider getting a second job.

I’m tired of being borderline sick every week. Waking up congested, going to bed with a tingle in my throat. Never fully sick enough to rest, never healthy enough to feel alive.

If this is what being an adult is, why were we ever so eager to grow up?

Why couldn’t I have stayed young enough to cling to wishful thinking? To believe adulthood would be like the shows and movies I watched.

That I’d have friends who dropped by unannounced. That work would be hard, sure, but I’d end the night at a bar laughing about it with people who get me.

Instead, I’m the weird neighbour.
The one with the cat who never has company. Who spends her time crocheting.

Then I’m the freak who moves back in with her parents. Who shows up to family gatherings alone… again.

But it’s not supposed to be like this.
I’m just too tired to change it.

Stuck in a cycle of loneliness and apathy.

I keep wondering what I’m doing wrong.
Then I think, maybe it’s not me. Maybe it’s the culture we’re living in.

Hyper-independent. Afraid to ask for help. Taught to figure everything out alone.

That doesn’t work for me.
I’m meant to be in community.

More than that, I am meant to build community. To lead it. To nurture it.
And I know I’m tired because I’m not living for that purpose.

My mind is full of ideas, but no one seems to listen.

“You’re valued here,” they say,
as long as I don’t cause trouble.

But that’s just not me.
I won’t sit back quietly.

I wish I had a way to find a happy ending. I have no moral to this story, no tidy takeaway. Just the truth that sometimes being tired is what reminds you you’re still fighting. Still hoping for more. Still wanting to believe in the kind of life where people show up for each other.

Maybe that’s the point.

I’m tired, yes — but I’m still here.