Under the surface

I had an awesome day today, went out with friends, did interesting things, had good food and conversations.
On the surface.

Scratch the surface and it starts bleeding, like scabs on a wound. Under the surface is depression. Under the surface are tears, waiting for a moment, where I get to distracted to suppress them.

I like listening to conversations, even if it gets really hard to follow, when I'm tired or if there's too much noise around. I don't like joining in, because I don't like hearing my own accent.
It is still exhausting. I don't know if this will change. Communicating in a foreign language all the time feels a bit like trying to get used to thin air on a mountain. It's possible, but it doesn't really feel pleasant. You always feel like you're lacking something. You try to breathe but can't.

It's frustrating, that I don't understand and speak better than I do. I realise, very often I appear daft or simply not very funny, just because something was lost in translation.

When I looked into my tired face in the mirror this morning, all I wanted was, to crawl back into my bed.

But I don't want to give up. So I put on my brave face with the help of more makeup than usual, dressed up nicely and went out. I made it through this day and I was having as much fun as possible. It did not go very deep, but that's ok. I made an effort.

My life scares me. I'm too aware, that I am always just one step from catastrophe. I'd just need to lose my job and everything collapses. I feel cold and alone. I miss having someone I can talk to. It's nice having friends to do fun things with, but I really miss someone to talk an entire night through until the morning.

People keep telling me, I'm lovely and awesome. I don't feel like that. I feel old, lonely and pathetic.
I can be surrounded by happy, laughing people and all I hear is the ice breaking under my feet...

Tired

A few weeks ago, I went walking on Mount Snowdon. It was a long walk, beautiful, exhausting, challenging at times. But we reached the summit.
The way back seemed to drag on forever. We walked through wet, boggy grassland; the path didn't seem to end. Everyone was tired, had wet feet and just wanted to get back to the cars and the end of the journey.

My life feels like that. The way uphill was hard, so many challenges, but yet so rewarding. When I look back, I can hardly believe how much time has passed, how long I've lived and how many things I have experienced. I look at old photos and realise, I was already alive when they were taken. I hear songs on the radio and remember a time from decades past. There's so much in the past now and not much ahead, it seems. And the way seems to go on forever.

Every day I force myself to go through yet another day. I'm so tired. All I want is, to rest. But I can't and so I just march on. What else can I do?

The German word for "suicidal" is "lebensmüde". Literally "tired of living".

I'm not suicidal. But I am very, very tired. I am no longer curious, what may lie behind the next corner or over the next hill. I have seen so many things; at some point they just start repeating themselves.

I try to be good. I try to do things, that make my life better. More interesting, more fun - and it works. My life is interesting. And fun. I have friends, I do wonderful things.
I try very hard, not to give up. I try so very hard, to find something that makes me want to go on.

I am so very tired.