Fatigue

My eyes are closing, I want to sleep, but a swarm of thoughts does not allow me to fall asleep for a minute, driving away sleep with its buzzing. The future, the fear of it, the unknown are the factors tormenting the last two years. Who to be, what to do in life to succeed. There is no hobby, no desire to do anything. The body is tired, and even worse, the soul is tired. I want to lie down, close my eyes and fall asleep, not wake up for a year, preferably two, although sometimes thoughts slip that I would never wake up. Noise, sudden movements—they cause irritation much more than before. Fatigue takes you up and almost makes you fall asleep at the table in front of a mountain of notebooks, textbooks and a couple of cans of energy drinks and coffee mugs, which, by the way, have not helped for a long time, but you drink out of habit or out of the hope that they will give you at least a drop of energy again, which, of course, does not happen. And so, the eyes slowly close, the consciousness is slowly obscured by the blackness of sleep, but at the same moment a sharp movement of the body pulls you out of sleep—another joke of the brain, checking whether you are alive. And again the dream is lost. What time is it? About three in the morning, get up at six in the morning. The swarm of thoughts slowly subsides, but still remains the same intrusive, forcing you to remember the day you lived again, but already in your memories: you didn't say that and everyone laughed, but you are ashamed, you want to fall through the ground, or for example, how you stumbled and fell in front of everyone, and so, every memory that you wanted forget, scrolls again and again before my eyes. It's four in the morning, your eyes are slowly closing, and you finally feel the long—awaited freedom from reality, sinking into sleep, and don't care about everything, and there's not enough sleep left, quarrels, screams, yells, grades, people-you're sleeping, and you're calm, at least here, in a dream.