I’m Tired.

If ever there was a motto for our generation, this would probably be it.

I’m so tired.

I’m tired of my news feed being one atrocity after another. Of each new headline convincing me that I’ve finally reached the peak of shock and fury I could feel, only to be proved wrong when I read the next one.  Of watching the world seemingly falling apart at the seams.

I’m tired of listening to people make excuses while the body counts grow ever higher. Of quibbling over whether a problem really even exists or whether these are just a few bad examples. Of arguing whether genocide is too severe a word, or whether these here actually count as concentration camps. As though just the fact that these words could be applied isn’t horrifying enough. As though we shouldn’t be striving to stop things before they reach this point.

I’m tired of listening to people make excuses for why this act of violence is excusable and acceptable while condemning those just trying to defend themselves and others.

I’m tired of people valuing civility and politeness over stopping active harm, over saving lives, over preventing pain.

I’m tired of people who will never have to face the consequences of the laws they create deciding the concerns of those affected are irrelevant and unimportant.

I’m tired of how when a problem is noticed, of the blame being put on those who are struggling the most. Of people just asking for basic necessities and dignity being accused of being entitled. Of being called greedy for asking for a crust of bread from those hoarding all the food.

I’m tired of witnessing my friends have their lives ruled by fear, and struggle. Of having to worry about whether this will be the day that one of them ends up a victim on the news. Whether this will be the morning when I wake up to find out they’re no longer here because I failed to save them from a system trying its hardest to destroy them and me.

I’m tired of watching their lives made harder by people for no other reason than because their skin is a little darker, or their hair has a different texture. Or because their sexual orientation falls outside of heteronormativity. Or because of their gender, assigned or otherwise.

I’m tired of watching institutions that are meant to exist to do good, instead using their power to harm those most vulnerable. Of institutions meant to protect and serve the people, deciding on who counts as people and instead causing hurt and using people.

I’m tired of money mattering more than people.

I’m tired of the right for some to hoard wealth and resources mattering more than the fact that doing so means condemning millions to death.

I’m tired of just barely surviving. I’m tired of every day feeling like I’m barely treading water, only to be told that I’m just not trying hard enough as they add weights to my struggles. Of having those who have never been in my position thinking they have all the answers when they don’t even understand the question.

I’m tired of wondering if I will ever be allowed the chance to be happy. If whether my life will be a story of someone who was used and discarded when no longer useful until finally everything they are is taken from me. I’m tired of longing for a home and normalcy but never being allowed it because of an accident of genetics. Of being denied the chance to be with the one I love.

I’m tired of never being allowed to rest, because every day brings an additional struggle, an additional injustice, an additional barrier for me to overcome, while I’m still working on overcoming the first ones.

I’m tired of feeling helpless and useless while witnessing those I love struggle with the same. Of feeling powerless to change minds and hearts, helpless to change the situations and circumstances. Of feeling powerless to stop the ongoing spread of darkness, and hate, and suffering, the destruction of our planet, of people.

I’m tired of not knowing what to say to people when they say they have no hope anymore. Of not knowing how to stop the pain they’re in and how to make those that can stop it, care enough to try.

I’m tired of having no idea where I will be in the next year, two years. Of not knowing if there is a light at the end of this tunnel. Of wondering if things will ever improve or get better.

I’m tired of feeling like I don’t matter. Like everyone else’s interests and passions are more valid, more real. As though everyone else’s time is worth more than mine.

I’m tired of feeling like I’m invisible. Like the only time the people around me notice me is when they need something from me, but when I’m struggling, or need help, or could use a break – nothing. I’m tired of other people taking credit for my work. Of people taking me and the things I do for granted.

I’m tired of being treated like the poor relation who should be grateful for anything they’re given, regardless of whether it’s what is needed or enough, or whether it’s trash that was easier to give to me than to dispose of themselves.

I’m tired of people blaming the victims.

I’m tired of being tired because of things that not only don’t have to exist but shouldn’t. Of being made, along with others, to carry the burden of other people’s greed and selfishness and bigotry.

I’m tired because it doesn’t have to be this way.

I’m Tired.

One thought on “I’m Tired.

  1. 1

    This was a quixotic-yet-feasible outlook on society. I don’t mean quixotic in the overly-hopeful sense, but in the sense of utopian possibility. To be aware of the toxicity of surroundings in your life, while perceptive of the fact that little can be done through pleading desperation, you simply have to sit back and wonder about the ontology of it all. This was beautifully penned, and I admire your resilience. Being a TBI survivor, concordist author, and outspoken-yet-unwavering debater, I understand all too well the feeling of knowing the minutiae of why things are the way they are, while wanting people to just pause their lives and listen. Just for a minute.

    Continue your path, find your peace, and don’t let your disability be your purpose. You are more than your adjectives.

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