I walk in, close and lock the front door. As I walk past the kitchen, mumble a greeting to mother and walk on to my room. I shut the door behind me, drop my bag to the floor, take off my shoes and pants and get into bed and sleep.
This has been my routine for the past I-don’t-know-how-many days. I have absolutely no desire to do anything but sleep. Mom has been on Google again. She taps the door and opens it, coming in to sit on my bed. I don’t move to face her. I know what she will say. She is convinced I am sick.
It’s been different things every single time.
- Sleep Apnea
- Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
- Kleine-Levin Syndrome
- Restless Legs Syndrome
- Circadian Rhythm Disorders
I am just tired. Being in this house, around my dysfunctional parents makes me tired. I want nothing more than sleep in this house. I know she means well, but there is nothing she can do to help.
It would be nice to wake up, take a hot shower for 30 whole minutes. Walk into the kitchen and find Mom and Dad eating their cereal in silence. Zero bickering. Oh, that would be nice. I’d have my own cereal in peace. Wash my bowl and walk to work. Now that would be a good day. Just one day in my life where I don’t have to be strong. Where I don’t have to be strong for myself, for my mother or my father.
I am tired of being tired, but home is not a place of comfort for me. Never has been. No one relaxes where guns are always blazing. But I can’t tell her that. She doesn’t need that. And because I can’t tell her the truth that lingers on my tongue, I don’t turn when she calls out my name. I pretend to be asleep, like I always do.