Maybe This Is Just Life

I haven’t written anything for a while.

The past few weeks were… not good.

It was one of those periods where it’s bad, then worse, then a bit better, but still bad, and then worse again. And it just keeps going like that. Up and down, but mostly somewhere low.

I had a lot of thoughts during this time. Too many. I usually try to reflect on them, to understand what’s going on in my head. But sometimes they feel too heavy. And at the same time, my head is never empty.

It’s loud. Sometimes too loud.

It’s been three years since I started taking antidepressants. And honestly, it’s frustrating. I would like to stop. But I can’t. Every time I try, I fall into something even deeper. And I keep wondering — is there a point where it just… gets better? Not perfect. Just better. Like waking up one day and realising I don’t need them anymore.

I know it doesn’t work like that. Still, I think about it.

And then there is this one thought. The most constant one. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing. At work. At home. On leave. Anywhere. The same sentence is always there:

I’m tired.

Not just physically. Something bigger. Like a background feeling that never really leaves. It doesn’t matter if I worked all day or did nothing.

I’m still tired.

And I don’t even know when it started. Was it adulthood? Is this what being an adult feels like? Because I don’t remember feeling like this when I was younger. Even though my childhood wasn’t easy. Maybe I was tired back then too. I just didn’t notice it in the same way. Now it feels constant. Like life slowly added responsibilities, expectations, pressure… And at some point, it became too much. Not all at once. Slowly.

Like walking into water without noticing how deep it’s getting. And then suddenly you’re not standing anymore. You’re trying not to drown. And all you can think is:

I’m tired.

Sometimes I think — maybe we need a club of tired people. Not to fix anything. Just to sit there and not pretend. Not to explain. Just to be tired together. I don’t know if this is normal. Maybe it is.

Maybe this is just how life feels sometimes. For everyone. Or maybe I’m overthinking. Maybe I’m fine. I always say I am. But if I’m being honest — I don’t think “fine” is the right word.

Maybe being “fine” sometimes just means learning how to carry the tiredness through another imperfect week.