I feel old.
Those who know me will probably recognise this quote, and do one of two things – either joke about it, or just roll their eyes. In point of fact, it’s almost become an ongoing joke amongst some, with me always being referred to as the old man. True, I am the oldest of the group, but I don’t think they realise how much I mean it. When I say it, I’m not trying to get a laugh. I really do feel old.
Old, though, is perhaps the wrong word. ‘Weary’ is somewhat more appropriate, with a touch of ‘drained’ mixed in for good measure. I feel like I’ve been though enough for one life; that I’m ready to just rest. But, having spent only twenty-six years on this ball of dirt, hurtling at breakneck speed around an enormous fusion-powered orb of fire – hell, isn’t this decade supposed to be one of my better ones?
I feel bad for even thinking it, even feeling it, though. So many people have got it far worse than me. Who am I to complain, when so many are suffering? So I push it aside, but sometimes, some days, it’s just impossible to ignore that feeling inside, telling me to lie down already and surrender.
Yes, I have a job – one I enjoy, even. I don’t make as much money as I would like, but who does? I make enough to be comfortable, and that’s working fewer hours than your average nine-to-five drone. Yes, I have a partner who supports me far more than I probably deserve; if it weren’t for her, I’d be far, far lower on the food chain than I am today. No, I’ve never (for the most part) gone without food; even get the luxury of junk food, so can’t complain there. No, I’ve never been homeless (I had aa car). Yes, I’ve had kids, perhaps too early in my life, though I don’t regret them. Yes, I’ve separated with their mother. No, it hasn’t been easy – but so many people have been there and are still going strong. I’ve had my share of long-term relationships over the years, and as each one ends, it drains a little more life out of me, to the point I’m not even sure if there’s anything left.
I’ve vaguely thought it for a while, but never outright put it into words – I may be an alcoholic again, albeit nowhere near as bad as I once was. Something of a functional alcoholic. It doesn’t affect my daily life, and I’m not as dependent on it as I once was (from my perspective; there’s always a small chance my judgment is clouded), but I’ll admit I probably drink a little more each week than I should. But even that’s a luxury I can’t complain about, when other people can’t even find clean water. All my flaws, sins and vices are like that – yet more proof that I shouldn’t be feeling this constant tiredness.
I’m not rightly sure what the point of this is; perhaps just to get it out in writing, in the hopes it will take the weight off my chest? I’ve seen few times in the past where that has actually worked – and I used to write a lot – so maybe not. As it stands, this is all pointless. I know myself well enough to realise I’ll just keep on rolling along, even if it is just day to day, same as those preceding.
Whatever the reason, there it is. I’m just plain tired.
“Suddenly the lights go out – let forever drag me down.
I will find the enemy within,
‘cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin.”
Breaking Benjamin – Dear Agony
