3. A Space for Exhaustion
I’ll be honest – sometimes, I just don’t have the words, or energy.
By sheer luck or some miracle, sleep is one of the few things I typically have very little trouble with. I’ve always been quite a deep sleeper, which I certainly do recognize as more of a blessing than a curse. This is especially useful given my hyperactive, terribly anxious mind, which I often have trouble keeping straight or clear anymore. Not to mention the fact that life often feels like whiplash.
Most of the time, it’s the mere survival of each passing day that can feel incredibly difficult and overwhelming. In the moment, so much, so often can be great distractions, regardless of how meaningful or helpful they ultimately are. With every distraction or with each tangible (as much as anything can be these days) occurrence, there’s almost an imaginary sense of accomplishment that I feel temporarily placated by. Sometimes, it’s enough to keep me numb.
On the other hand, for every little thing that I absorb and then brush aside, I can almost fool myself into thinking that it goes away. Deep down, I know better. Sometimes then, I wonder, what will happen if/when I reach my full capacity? What does that even look or feel like? It’s like, if a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it actually make a sound? Did it even happen at all?
Your body will tell you, a friend gently reminds me. True enough.
I had been long overdue for a good cry.
One night recently, I woke up out of nowhere at 3 in the morning, tears rolling down my face almost instantly. I laid there blubbering like a baby, unable to fall back asleep, cursing at the heavens. Why? I asked, over and over, crying for no reason, knowing deep in my heart that it was for all of the reasons.
I’m tired. Each day is its own mountain to climb. Take a look at the news any day; pick a card, any card. With so much happening constantly and in such ridiculous, rapid succession, it’s difficult to pause and absorb. How do we make room for life itself, and then all of the noise surrounding it? How do we process our sorrow? How do we navigate the trauma? You build up a second skin, and then a third, and then another, until you feel nothing and everything all at once.
I’m tired of Black and Brown people dying senselessly, I’m tired of Asian people being attacked and hurt for no reason, I’m tired of the lives and rights of the marginalized constantly hanging by a thread. I’m tired of the truth constantly being up for debate. Of having to settle for empty gestures of so-called justice. I’m tired of being resilient. I’m tired of pretending. Tired of being overlooked, underestimated, undervalued. Of being invisible, of feeling invisible. Simultaneously, of feeling vulnerable and exposed because of what I look like, of the color of my skin. Of constantly bearing the burden of explaining. Of having to choose my battles, because nine times of ten, it ultimately isn’t worth it. I’m tired of biting my tongue. Of being distracted. Of being powerless. Of making space for those who simply don’t know better, but should. I’m tired of feeling crazy.
No. I am exhausted.
Ever since I was small, I would never cry in front of people, not even my parents. I’d try to hold it in or whimper in silence, afraid for my pain to be discovered. For as long as I can remember, attention has always made feel uneasy and uncomfortable. The exposure, I feel, is my call to make. I think I can be far too generous when it comes to making room for other people, sometimes (all the time) to the point that I leave none for myself. I’ll prioritize myself later, I always think.
But it all adds up, doesn’t it? No matter how much I try and fight it. Every little thing I try to suppress, every little thing I’ll save for later, every bit of space you give up for someone else. Sooner or later, everything that you’ve locked deep inside has to come pouring out when every fiber of your being has decided that it’s had enough. The levee inevitably breaks.
Your body always tells you. Perhaps it’s time I try and listen. What choice do I have?
Celeste’s Not Your Muse was one of my most-anticipated records this year, and it’s the gift that keeps on giving. She recently performed a gorgeous set for Morning Becomes Eclectic, but if you only have a few minutes to spare, this powerful performance of “Hear My Voice” is worth it:
by Kanghee Kim for The New York Times This feature made me feel all kinds of things, particularly because I see myself, my family, my people in these images, in these stories. The whole thing is powerful, wonderful, and haunting all at once.
This TikTok that my sister sent to me, which apparently encapsulates who I am when it comes to (re)socialization… No comment.
THR’s glorious cover story this week
I don’t have it in me to articulately express the pain of losing yet another light like Ma’khia Bryant, so I’ll leave you with Phoebe Robinson’s words. I implore you to click the post below.
For ways to demand police accountability for her murder, see here.
Til next time.