Burnt out

It’s horrible and insidious, and the words carry a crushing weight that describes what it does to you.

Whatever light you had inside get’s smothered until it’s almost gone, you don’t see it coming, but you know it’s there.

A gathering, creeping, clawing shadow.

It makes you doubt yourself, it makes you point the blame elsewhere.

I’m just tired.

It was a long week.

It was only delayed two hours this time.

It makes you see hope where it might not even exist.

It’s not so bad.

It could be worse.

Next week will be better.

Slowly, slowly it changes the texture of things. Everything.

It’s voice whisper in a deadline, an ugly truth in an email, an overheard lie in a conversation.

It constricts you relentlessly and unexpectedly.

I left my headphones in the office.

I need to stay another night.

Sorry, i’ll not be there for your birthday this year.

How was the school play?

It creates its own gravity, drawing in the things that feed it, casting its torturous pall over whatever it touches.

You touch.

You know what light and lightness you had is being eroded.

Effort is monumental.

Every video call is climbing out of a pit.

10 minutes sitting in a car park telling yourself to just move.

Every notification another roll of the dice.

Despite it’s darkness it’s invisible.

Mostly.

“Man you look exhausted”

“You seem a bit off”

“What do you mean you don’t want to come out? C’mon!?”

Then it’s normal.

But it isn’t.

You’re surrounded by it, trapped in it and unable to see how to get out.

You have small moments to push the dark out, create a small space in it.

A pint. Two pints. Three pints.

You see hope that isn’t there, and when it doesn’t push away the dark, the dark somehow get’s thicker. So you chase the the hope again. Again.

You focus on the things that stop you thinking. You act. You do. You do over.

Responsibilities become life or death, goals are imperatives, problems are body blows, you become tied up in the hopelessness and the failure.

Anger and rage follow.

Small issues explode into catastrophic nightmares.

Doors get punched.

Chairs get flung.

You find yourself dropped to the floor, unable to breath.

You need to change. You have to.

I’ll get out. I’ll go somewhere else. You build a plan. You’ll make some changes.

What if it’s the same? What if you can’t?

Its voice is yours now.

So you don’t do anything.

You look for hope that isn’t there.

The density increases.

You go on holiday.

It goes with you. After a few days its effect is diminished.

You don’t even realise it but you’re free.

You feel better.

It’s fine.

Until it isn’t.

You don’t have your own time anymore. Your world is responsibilities, obligations, tasks,

It whispers again. But its voice is your friends, your family, your kids.

‘What are you up to man, we’ve not seen you in ages? <nothing im worthless, i’ll just bring you down>” “Will you put down the fucking phone <this is important. i think. its not. fuck you>” “Are you back early this week?<>”

The effort increases, its density and gravity pull you down further and further.

Constantly.

It’s gone. Why?

I’d managed to reconnect to some of the things that genuinely lightened me, music, exercise, nature, the sheer joy of doing nothing in particular.

I realised that some things actually didn’t matter and dropped them.

I changed how I viewed things, and introduced more balance.

I wish I could say it was all down to something I did, but it wasn’t. The world changed around me the situation we are all collectively facing with the pandemic, travel restrictions and lockdowns has forced me to slow down.

It’s taken a long time, it’s better now, but i’m afraid it will come back, but it’s not going to drag me down so far ever again.

This was my experience, if you feel the same, please reach out to others and get help. Sometimes you need someone else’s light to reignite your own.