The kind of tired that grinds at your bones and digs into you like an invisible knife, twirling and twisting. The kind of tired where, if you were being dragged down into hell from your bed, you’d tuck into the covers more while it happens. The kind of tired where you glance around aimlessly, wondering “is there a point?” And coming to the conclusion that, no, there’s not, but it’s not like you have a choice anyway.

I’ve been on the verge of breaking my jaw for months from my much I clench it from stress. I can feel myself potentially about to pass out on a daily basis from dehydration, because I’d rather smoke to help get me through the day. And yet, I know I don’t have a decision in anything. So I drag my feet to get through, day by day. Because that’s all you can do.