The only thing that keeps me from doing things yet pushes me to do them at the exact same time is the thought that eventually we will all be food for hungry, wild animals. Just chunks of meat for the creatures that kept their distance our entire lives. The ONLY thing that makes my legs move, carrying one foot in front of the other, day in and day out, while also causing my knees to occasionally buckle in the same respect- is the mental image of a mad, raging bear tearing and ripping my skin away from the nerves and muscles, stringy and tough beneath. Muscles from bones and so on and so forth until I’m a disgusting mangled mess. The crunching and smacking.
Depending on the day it’s enough to long for my bed until I’m back in it. Which could be four pm or seven thirty or ten at night. It all depends on the severity of the mental animal attacks that I choose to play over and over again. If I’m not longing for my bed then I’m longing to run as far and fast away from everything I know.
It’s the same reason I do stupid things and make occasional awful decisions.
Life exhausts me, but not in the way most things exhaust a person. Not in a way that causes people to step off of the tallest building in their city on to softer thoughts and busy, hard streets. There’s not a word for it. It’s a tired I’ll never understand or escape. It just exists, heavy and looming. Forever.