Depression Is a Different Kind of Tired

I’m just so tired right now.

But it’s not just that I’m tired.

When most people say they’re tired, that’s exactly what they mean. They’re tired. Exhausted, even. Wiped out. Worn down. They didn’t sleep well, or they stayed up too late. Or maybe they’ve been up taking care of someone else who needed them. And their energy reserves are totally zapped. But given a few nights of good rest, they bounce back.

When I say I’m tired, I mean, sure, I’m tired. I never sleep well. I wake up about every hour. Every night. Sometimes, I find myself in disbelief that it could still be dark out, because I’m already on my sixth wakeup. And that’s exhausting in its own right.

But this is a different kind of tired. This is existing in a world in which I am cloaked in a cold, wet, heavy blanket. My feet are stuck in the mud. It is eternally dusk and difficult to see. This is the tiredness of depression.

And I’m in it right now. Weighed down, stuck and in the dark.

Again.

And I just keep going. I keep showing up. For my family. For my job. For grad school. There isn’t another choice.

But I’m just so tired.

It’s been three years of trying to navigate life through a fog of depression that hasn’t fully lifted in all that time. And it’s tricky, that fog. It rolls in slowly, so I don’t even realize it’s getting harder to see. I can’t orient myself in space and time. Past traumas make themselves part of my present, and I can’t tell if my actions are being directed by 43-year-old me, or 23-year-old me, and there’s a big difference. And eventually, things are so overwhelming that I find myself intently studying the threads in the upholstery of my couch, because I’m immobilized by feelings of incompetence, fear and hopelessness.

I’m just so tired.

And my spouse knows. And my therapist knows. And my psychiatrist knows. And there are extra sessions and extra appointments and extra help at home. As always. And yet, it all just makes me feel even worse, because it feels like confirmation that I can’t manage. Will there ever be a time I can just exist without professional interventions and multiple medications?

I’m so tired.

Why is it that the more I find myself mired in this weariness, the harder it is to move forward?

I want to be awake.