Tuesday night I started drafting a suicide note in my head.

I was too exhausted to get up and turn my laptop on so I just kept retooling it in my head. All night long, as I drifted in and out of restless sleep, I thought through how I could end this, what would be most graceful and compassionate.

I have no idea why Tuesday was the day. Nothing stands out to me. It was an average day in every way. I got up at 5:30 a.m. without the alarm clock as usual. I showered and dressed for work and enjoyed my coffee like any other day. My daughter broke my silence long enough to wander in and kiss me before she headed to her 8 o’clock bio-chem class at the college, and I finished readying myself for the day. I had an easy drive to the office, and an average lifeless void sort of work day, and then I went home. My daughter and her boyfriend were buzzing brightly around the kitchen when I arrived, having made brown rice and fixings for the black bean soup I’d prepped in the crockpot. This was not an extraordinary day. It was what appeared to be a rather good day.

And I was utterly and vastly depleted.

I was too exhausted to cry. I was too tired to care enough to dig into my reserve of joyful energy. I knew all the places to go walking about in my heart, in my head, in my memories, in my reality to find my joy.

I was just too tired. Because some days, even with a good life, life can be too much.

I write and talk a lot about empowering yourself to make the change you want in your life. Decide what you want, the direction you want to go in, and just do it because failure isn’t the worst thing you could look back on when the moment has passed and fear stood in your way.

But this wasn’t about something I needed to change. This wasn’t about the 500 foot view of my life. This was about the nose-to-nose look into my soul view of my life. And that little girl was tired of being brave and strong and enthusiastic and indomitable. That little girl was for a moment shattered. Pain in my chest. Ache in my muscles. Headache in my temples. Tears trapped in my lashes. And the thought of courage for one more day was too daunting.

I won’t write of my thoughts for my daughter’s life without me. I simply can’t. But when life is that dark, there isn’t energy and strength to put everyone else first. I know how this would affect her. I know I should live for her. I know how I would be hurting my family and friends. But there isn’t air for that. There is no air. There are boulders of exhaustion pinning me down.

So I put the mental inventory of my medicine cabinet aside and forced myself to go to sleep. Lots of time in yoga class helps turn the brain off and block out the noise, so I did manage to sleep a bit, even if fitfully. And Wednesday morning arrived with the exact same level of emotion, as though not a moment had passed from the night before, and it scared the very fragile life out of me.

I got up at 5:30 without the alarm clock as usual. I showered and dressed for work and enjoyed my coffee like any other day. My daughter broke my silence long enough to wander in and kiss me before she headed to her 8 o’clock bio-chem class at the college, and I finished readying myself for the day. I had an easy drive to the office, but I drove right by it. I pulled in to an empty bank parking lot a block past my building and cried for about a minute. Hysterically, I was thinking I didn’t have mascara in my purse, and if I didn’t do something tragic, my makeup was going to look horrible for the rest of the day. So I pulled my act together and drove to my favorite coffee shop across from a lovely little park and community train station.

I had no plans other than to put one foot in front of the other, one thought on top of the next. I knew I couldn’t write, knew I didn’t have the strength of Hemingway to bleed all over the keys. But I could edit, so I opened my mini-laptop and just picked somewhere random in my book and started reading. And time changed and air shifted and I was breathing. I was remembering. I was feeling light and energy.

After my first cup of coffee and a dozen pages in, I knew the moment had passed. It was a really big and bad scary one, and I’m sure it will pass this way again. Being a 40-something is not an easy place to be. I love the life I’ve lived, and I would be fine in so many ways if it ended today. I’ve lived great adventures and overcome incredible obstacles. I have lived fearlessly and lost and won at love a dozen times over. I have no regrets. But at times, I am just too tired to keep up with all of the energy and courage it takes to be the person I want to be and admire. She is strong and brave and smart and sexy, a career professional and devoted mother and gracious friend and passionate lover. As a perfectionist, that’s a lot to require of myself every day. Failure is not an option, merely an obstacle to be overcome.

So I can’t tell you how I’m going to stave that off the next time it hits me. I hope I have the energy to keep moving. I hope I move toward a yoga class. I hope I move toward a phone call with a friend. I hope I ask my daughter and boyfriend to curl up on the couch and watch a movie with me. I hope I find the energy to do anything except quit. I hope my pride of finishing this damn book stops me from falling down that rabbit hole.

Wednesday turned out to be a great day. After enjoying my coffee and bagel and watching the morning commuters head off on their day, work was energizing. Hot yoga that night with my daughter kicked our collective asses, and we enjoyed every ounce of sweat. By Thursday when a dear friend called to bend my ear, I was myself again and thankful to be there for that call. So thankful. Could she have called someone else? Of course. Would it have been me? No, and that would have been a shame. Friday I had lunch with a new friend, and Saturday I have a dinner party to get dressed up for.

This merry-go-round could stop at any time. But my energy is bright today and I know how Tuesday night felt and yet it’s a million miles away. For me, the scariest part is that my life is no different today than it was Tuesday. My life is rich with love and accomplishment and warmth. But even a good life can feel overwhelmingly heavy at times.

I see glimpses of this same feeling in conversations I hear and posts I read, so I’m guessing this isn’t unique to me, the “what’s the point” days. If that’s you, I hope you keep going.

~

Author: Cristy Courtney

Editor: Caroline Beaton

Photo: Flickr