Yes, I Do Look Tired And Here’s Why

Thought Catalog

iStock / EversteiStock / Everste

It’s 12:52 AM on a Tuesday. The club is not going up. I’m clicking on a new thing every two seconds.

Click. Click. Click.

My brain works in morse code, trying to piece together my own incoherency when everyone else is too busy soaking up sleep. The messages stop. The texts cease. So it’s just me.

I’m typing patterns with my own fingers. Click. Stop. Click. Stop. I’m lonely. Click. Stop. I’m not sure what’s wrong. Click. Stop. I need to go back to therapy. Click. Stop. I can’t afford what they’re going to tell me. Click. Stop.

I do the usual rounds: Twitter, Facebook, Email, YouTube. Look at my phone at Snapchat. He’s looked at my Snap. No text though. I reached out for help, and he ignored it. Funny, I think. He told me he was an asshole. Should have believed it.

Click. Think about…

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