I’m so tired, all the time. I could sleep all day and wake up tired, and I’m sick of it. I’m whingy and sad and I know it’s unfair to you, and I’m sorry. I want to pull myself out of this funk and give you the best of me but all I can do is crawl and retreat into the safety of your arms. The anxiety is exhausting, it’s always there and I’m just waiting for it to gain momentum and swallow me again. So all I can do is wait. And waiting is the hardest part
