After times of stress have always feel drained. In the beginning it just caused me to isolate myself mentally, but physically I was usually okay. But over the past few years, stress has worked harder on me physically. Damn near to the point where I can now manage things mentally much better than I can physically. Needless to say, it’s been an awkward adjustment. Having to step back from situations solely because of the fatigue it causes me.
Even after our little storm, I found myself exhausted and quite fatigued. After years of mindfulness practice I still find myself rushing ahead and worrying about the future. It’s nothing for me to count the days till my next paycheck check. Fearing that we’ll run out of food or gas, even when things are okay. Even after going to numerous doctors appointments over the years. I still find myself worrying about what the next diagnosis will be. Still I play the part of the laissez-faire fella without a care in the world. But just beneath the surface stress chips away at my fragility.
So is it time for another pep talk or more self motivation? Or do I just wait out the fear and paste on yet another fake smile. Do I stand here battered and bruised and still continue showing off my scars? Or is that story getting a little old? I mean there’s only so much gore one can display before the audience starts to go numb. So I lay here picking away at these tiny keys dreaming up words no deeper than the end of my finger. Feeling like I’m impressing no one other than myself, because I’ve learned nothing. So take from my words what you can, while I fade into the past tense.
Even after our little storm, I found myself exhausted and quite fatigued. After years of mindfulness practice I still find myself rushing ahead and worrying about the future. It’s nothing for me to count the days till my next paycheck check. Fearing that we’ll run out of food or gas, even when things are okay. Even after going to numerous doctors appointments over the years. I still find myself worrying about what the next diagnosis will be. Still I play the part of the laissez-faire fella without a care in the world. But just beneath the surface stress chips away at my fragility.
So is it time for another pep talk or more self motivation? Or do I just wait out the fear and paste on yet another fake smile. Do I stand here battered and bruised and still continue showing off my scars? Or is that story getting a little old? I mean there’s only so much gore one can display before the audience starts to go numb. So I lay here picking away at these tiny keys dreaming up words no deeper than the end of my finger. Feeling like I’m impressing no one other than myself, because I’ve learned nothing. So take from my words what you can, while I fade into the past tense.
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