I am the kind of tired a nap cannot rectify. 

My exhaustion comes from the turbulent mixture of loneliness, neediness, and most palpable—grief. 

Traumaversary. Rolled into a death. Followed by a heart failure. In five days for an already fractured mind. 

I wished for a tide to gently be carried away on. I wouldn’t fight it. I couldn’t fight it. I’m too tired. 

The practicalities of life weigh on me. My mood sharp and severe when I neglect food. I remember coming across a tiktok once of a girl talking through taking the first bite. It was meant for people who struggle with eating, like me. I wish I saved it. 

I remember to check my disability status. My log on doesn’t work. Then I’m locked out. I try to call, the call won’t go through. I stop to breathe, feeling the vomit rise in my throat. I can’t fight it. I run to the bathroom. I purge. I cry. I clean myself. I crawl deep underneath my blankets and begin to tell the truth. I am in pain. 

I cannot think of what I need. I just need it. Details are too much. Please don’t ask me how I am. I just told you. 

I’m scared. And I want to go home. I can’t afford to and that triggers a whole other set of anxiety bombs. 

I wonder why if I couldn’t take care of myself, God always has me by myself? Speaking into crowded rooms of potential hoping to be seen, and heard. The roar of a crowd is beautiful but it never lasts and it’s never enough. 

This is the “it” Solange wanted to sex and shop away. This letter is my crane. My stomach growls. Tears well in my eyes. I’m too tired to eat. Tears fall and pool into my ears making everything around me muffled. 

Alice got carried away in a sea of her tears. Could you? The thought was impossible. I smiled. Finally I could breathe steadily. The tightness eased. I winced as I stretched my body. I was in physical pain from holding so much worry. 

I closed my eyes to damn the tears. I couldn’t make a decision about food. I asked myself what I could do? 

So I wrote.