Things We Don't Talk About by Christy Reynolds

I'm tired. Those two words say everything you could ever need to know about me. I'm tired, I think to myself as my 5 am alarm goes off, and then again when it rings at 5:30. I'm tired, I say as I start laundry, wake kids, feed dogs, sweep floors, and find clothes for everyone. I'm tired I say, as I start my morning push-ups and again when I do my ab workout with my husband, and yet again as we go for our 1 mile run or our 3 mile walk. I'm tired as I clean surfaces, cook meals, and make his lunch for work. I'm tired as I clean sinks and toilets and tired as I wash my hands for the 6th time in 20 minutes. I especially tired every time my germaphobia stops me from living a normal life and tired of living this life every time it affects the people I love. I want to hug my children, and touch my husband with no hesitation or second thoughts. Some days, when the people I love point it out or get irritated or angry over it... well I wonder if this life, my life is even worth living. I am hyper vigilant of what I and everyone around me has touched at all times. I can't brush up against a counter or table without evaluating who has touched it since I last cleaned it. I can't use my own bathroom without cloroxing the door knobs, toilet, counter, sink, and wall next to the toilet. I can't sit on my couch without soaking it in Lysol first. If I accidentally brush up against something that is "contaminated" I have to change clothes, or even shower. It never ends and the constant anxiety, fear, and shame are exhausting. When I can't "celebrate" an accomplishment because no one understands that, for me, not cloroxing my yoga mat before using it is enough to cause my heart to race and my palms to sweat, because for them, it's just a normal day. So, yes, I'm tired.