The wrestling is exhausting.
Pretending that you're okay when, in fact, everything around you is crumbling is exhausting.
Painting a smile on top of the pain is exhausting.
Losing sleep over things you can't do anything about is exhausting.
Depression is exhausting.
I often get to the 18th hour of the day and I feel so tired. I silently interrogate my wearyness: "What have I even done today to make me so tired?" I often feel as if my exhaustion is unwarranted--as if I don't deserve to claim such an adjective. I beat myself up over it--surely there is somebody out there who has earned this descriptor more than I have.
This wilderness that I'm struggling in is exhausting. Today's therapy session was exhausting. Healing is hard work. Being honest with yourself is hard work. My brain hurts, my heart aches, my hips sting with pain. It's like a cancer moving through my body. The laughing hurts as much as the crying. The light behind my eyes is being powered by a generator. Hell, the fact that I can even get outta bed and leave my house every day is a miracle of sorts.
But I'm still here--weary and worn, but available... available to do the work--
available to hope--
available to pray--
available to have faith.
This exhaustion won't last always.
This depression won't last always.
This wilderness is for just a season.
And through it all, I remain available.