I am tired.

Emotionally and mentally exhausted.

But I don’t think you’d notice if you didn’t know me.

I can turn it on and off.

I can fake, oh, how I can fake it.

Imagine being hip deep in a thick muddy sludge.

You’re in a bit of a pickle, sometimes it could even be considered a funny pickle that you’re in. And if you stand there and look around you can make jokes with those on solid ground around you.

But you can’t stay in sludge forever. You have to get out. You must get out. You’re missing too much being stuck.

And so you lift one leg at a time, inch by inch attempting to move it forward. You can’t talk while you do it, let alone make jokes. It’s imperative you focus all of your energy on moving forward, even if it’s just millimeters.

You begin to think, “Hey, this sludge isn’t that bad, the sun comes out sometimes, I can still talk to my friends…why try so hard to get out?” It’s like Dorothy in the poppy fields, sure, the Emerald City is right there and she went through so much to get there…but just…a little…nap…a rest…

No.

Lake Michigan

You have to get to the other side. Out of the crap. Out of the slime. They have cupcakes, horses of a different color, hugs, reality television and comfy couches on the other side.

But most of all that other side has rest. Rest for your weary brain, mind, heart and body. A place where you can charge back up and prepare yourself for your next unknown trip into the sludge.

This is the slowest most unfair journey I’ve ever been in. And it may never end for me.

But I’m grateful that I can talk about it.

And that I know for a fact that other side is there, waiting to give me the rest I deserve.