Exhaustion - Tumblr Posts

08/02/24

never been this tired (I’m surfing the crimson wave, girlies know what I mean + fear my anemia has gotten much worse)

basically I look like a hungover ghost

couldn’t get my 10k steps in, my Pilates done or even like anything productive at all today and that makes me feel disgusting

remind yourselves you deserve rest and stillness and all that jazz …

there is no shame in that

none

13/03/24

a little on being tired; because March is for resting up and reclaiming your energy

types of fatigue :

helper fatigue : from pouring all of your effort and energy into others while leaving none for yourself

depression fatigue : from fighting off and carrying the weight of negative intrusive thoughts

future fatigue : from spending so much time working towards a future goal that you neglect your needs in the present

anxiety fatigue : from being in constant fight or flight mode and never being able to let your guard down

compassion fatigue : from absorbing negative emotions from surroundings and experiencing sensory overload

antidotal mantra :

How the fuck am I supposed to explain chronic fatigue to someone??? Like I need at least one nap a day to even kind of function in addition to going to sleep earlier than most people might. I am constantly exhausted, I wake up exhausted and I end the day absolutely drained and then I’m expected to do it all again the next day. How the fuck do I explain that sometimes even doing nothing is exhausting? How do I explain that I can’t do things sometimes because I’m so far past tired that I’m essentially not functioning? How do I explain to someone who says they get exhausted but can still function when they’re at that point that my exhausted is completely and utterly different?

I moved my rolly desk chair to the kitchen so I can use it when I do dishes and cook and holy shit it makes it so much easier to do and not get as tired. I love making my world more accessible to myself.

Your exhaustion is not shameful. It is not a moral failure to be physically, mentally or emotionally tired. It is okay to be overwhelmed. You're not inferior to anyone just because it's hard for you to keep up with a fast-paced life.

A DO. RA. BLE. 😍😍😍

—

@lemonlillybee

Pass the Sleep

Title: Pass the Sleep

Fandom: Irondad

Word Count: 677

A/N: brought to you by the fact that I need to use the sleep, and also prompt #78 from @irondadmadlads, and also @comfortember prompts: exhaustion & pass out 

Keep reading

Muscle Memory

Exhaustion is a trigger. It makes my body think that I'm going to see him. It vibrates lightly with fretful anticipation and dread.

I was off for a few months owing to covid. It was the first time I have taken an extended breath since I was a teenager.

It gave the trauma time to catch up to me. I feel it all. I am so damn tired.

Being sick is an excuse: Episode 4

Perhaps not an illness, but he loved to praise my ability to operate when exhausted.

He took the fact that I could function on 2 - 3 hours of sleep as an invitation to push those boundaries.  For two years after my secrets had been divulged he said “It’s amazing you need so little sleep” and kept me at our his house until 4 am when I had to be at work for 9am.

I eventually lost that job (after I had officially cut ties thankfully) primarily because the HR department took my cry for help as an invitation to use my situation against me.  But I can’t deny that my serious and chronic lack of sleep affected my performance.

When I said as much, I was accused of pitting my stupidity at work on him.  I functioned just fine without sleep.  I was just making excuses.

There is no restful sleep for them, our friends the metal monsters.They have not yet learned to dream, to hope, to settle their weary forms with unspoken prayers for a tomorrow that tolls more kindly. There is, there isn’t, there is again to these mechanistic minds, no subtle liminality between consciousness and oblivion. Be understanding, O chemical creatures, for you also had to discover the joy of rest.

I'm like a grandma lately

→ sleeping early

→ eating early

I'm so tired

If I can't try, I can endure.

I've been saying that to myself a lot recently. So if you have no energy to try and do stuff currently or you feel like your body and mind are betraying you in some way? You will get through that, you will endure that until you have enough energy to get to the trying part again. And then the trying might even become doing for a little bit.

If I can't believe it for myself rn I hope you whoever reads this can. And I believe it for you too.

Our relationship is one of love and hate,

One day you care so deeply,

The very next you’re a flake.

You speak so, so much,

But tell me nothing at all.

You’re unreachable,

Surrounded by iron-clad walls.

You are without aim,

And have so little ambition,

But your creativity is marvelous.

Your smile is contagious.

You’re a little too honest,

With everyone but yourself.

You’re in dire need of a reality check,

Stop letting others put you down.

You’re worth more than you know.

You could do anything you desire,

But you fear the unknown.

A world of choices,

Yet you’re undecided.

Is your fear of failure,

Why you feel so daunted?

The calluses on your hands,

From writing, writing, and writing.

The aches in your being,

From everyone else you’ve been serving.

You got no time for yourself,

Darling, isn’t that unnerving?

It’s your life that you are living.

Our relationship is one of hate and love,

Regardless of the mixed feelings,

You should reach for the stars and above.

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | “If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

OC Whump

Hi, this is my first time posting content and this is my first contribution to Whumptober. It's about OC, so if you have any questions about them or the universe…I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Damp corridor, metal doors, one, two, three, a staircase down to the right, a corridor to the left - stairs are slippery and narrow - a first flight of steps, a second, plunged into the gloom that only his wolf's eyes can pierce, then a step that opens onto a wide underground stone corridor. He lunges forward.

A hand grabs him by the shoulder, closes over the dirty, damp fabric of his hoodie, restraining him.

-Detection spell, Gend whispers in his ear.

With a complex gesture of his left hand, the man disperses the spell into oblivion. They'll know they've been compromised, but not to what extent. Silver barely waits the explosion of the spell before resuming his advance through the tunnel, Gend at his heels illuminated by a luminous orb floating in the air. They make rapid progress, a running pace that Silver would certainly turn into a desperate rush forward if the other entity let him.

They both know what's at stake. The stakes. They've had breakfast with him, filled out papers on his advice, exchanged reading recommendations. They've seen him smile, they've teased him, they've watched him bleed and fight and bandage their wounds.

It's not fatigue that makes Gend's heart beat so fast, nor stupidity that drives Silver to keep going and turn the town upside down while his whole body betrays a deep exhaustion that worsens with each passing hour.

There will come a time when they can't take it anymore.

The corridor leads to a larger, circling, rocky room with three doors and a continuation of the corridor a little further on.

Silver suddenly yelps, and the older man suddenly raises his hand, ready to protect the only other member of their Triumvirate left with all his might. But no danger threatens, and yet the werewolf drops to the ground with a deep breath. Gend stares at him, expectant. Clearly, his companion had found something. A lead, a clue, anything that could confirm that they were on the right track, that they weren't making a mistake and wasting time on something that would lead them nowhere. It's been five days.

Silver raises her head in a jerky movement. Large, gold-spangled eyes, glittering with the manic energy of a man who hasn't slept in days, meet Gend's.

-That's his scent. He was here, he was here !

Silver spins around, his nose twitching in a very non-human way, trying to gather all the information he can find. Gend focus on the tiny traces of aura he can still perceive. It's faint, very faint, but he manages to feel the trace of a cold, sharp energy, the one he associates with their third member. A knot tightens in his stomach as a wave of despair washes over him, numbs his frozen fingers. A burning bitterness rising in his throat and lodging just behind his tongue.

Armand was there, so close, so close of a rescue perhaps, they missed him by maybe a few hours, and now maybe this mistake will sign his doom...

Silver straightened up and opened one of the doors on the left. Whatever the room contains makes him freeze on the threshold, and Gend pushes the fear that's stirring further into his stomach so he can go and support his teammate. Reaching behind him, however, he understands his shock.

Thick chains hang from the wall.

Gend's sense of smell is not as good as Silver's, but good enough to recognize the faint,metallic odor tickling his nostrils. His chest constricts painfully.

They knew. They knew Armand was being tortured, of course, but it's different to find concrete proof.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the underground is their two ragged breaths, then Silver turns and strides off down the tunnel.

-Silver...!

-Come on, we must be close, if we can find more clues, if we can exploit this lead, we can...

The werewolf stumbles and barely regains his balance. He has to lean on the wall with one hand to keep from collapsing.  His heartbeat is strangely violent and irregular, and his magic erratic. The knot in Gend's stomach tightens. They're exhausted, they're clumsy, they're going to make mistakes, endanger themselves unnecessarily and endanger Armand. A few hours is a long time, and the trail is already cold.

-Silver, he repeats softly.

-Fuck, no, Gend ! Explodes his friend. No ! They're torturing him ! He's been alone with them for a week ! I'm not leaving him ! As long as I can breathe, as long as I can stand, then I can keep looking for him ! So go back to the guild if you want, but leave me out of it, okay ?!

His anger poorly conceals his fear and the sobs beneath his cries.

-You can barely stand, Silver ! hisses Gend.

-I can, chokes his friend. I can still stand. If I can just hold on a little longer, then I can find him, bring him home...

-Not like this ! Gosh, your body's giving out ! Just a few more hours. Just a few hours. Please. Five hours of sleep, one meal, and I swear we'll be on our way. There's an inn next to that building. Silver, please...

And reasoning with Silver Shein when someone he loves is in danger has never been easy, but the guardian is also one of Gend's loved ones and he has lost enough over the last week. If he has to use other means of persuasion, he will.

-Three hours, growls a hoarse voice. And you report our position to Brian so one of his teams can come and investigate the damn tunnel.

-Yes ! nods the bar manager.

He chooses not to point out to Silver that he would never have left this trail unexplored. His friend is beyond exhaustion, and Gend will pass on this unpleasant innuendo.

Armand is his friend just as much as Silver is, and every cell in his body is screaming at him to keep going, to plunge deeper into the darkness, motivated by the mad hope of finding the part of himself that's missing at the end of this tunnel.

But of the three, Gend has always been the most reasonable, the voice of reason. For now, he has the means to preserve one of the people dear to his heart. He won't lose one to another.

Silently, as he heads for the exit alongside Silver, he begs Armand to hold on a little longer.

the day my will to live and work will be as strong as my will to die it's over for you b!tches

I drew a humanized Thomas sketches in two papers for three months ago.

You know how everyone thinks Timothee looked sick/tired during the Dune event last night? Maybe a fic where he’d actually not feeling well and has to miss it and he’s extremely bummed but reader wants to him to rest because he’s been working so hard for his next project Marty supreme and it’s taking a lot out of him. Physically and mentally.

Thx ☺️ love you 😘

🥰 I hope you don't mind a slight tweak where he did go to the event but came home wiped out and irritable.

Written from female reader perspective.

Most Meaningful Role

You could sense Timothée's foul mood before he even reached the front door after the Dune 2 Q&A. It was evident in the little things - the speed at which he pulled into the driveway, how hard he shut the car door, the muffled growl when he dropped his keys trying to get inside. If he was a cartoon, you would have seen a little dark storm cloud floating above his head.

IG credit: tchallamett

The aura of the room changed dramatically as he stepped across the threshold. He never even verbally responded to your greeting. Instead, he flopped down on the couch next to you and laid his head on your lap.

You softly gazed down at the boy turned friend turned love of your life, trying to exude calming vibes to counter his ire. You noticed the purple circles ghosting his eyes masked the beautiful constellations of freckles you adored. Out of habit, you extended your hand to play with his hair, but you hesitated ever so slightly due its new shortness before diving into the longer locks at the top.

Timothée noticed, rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I know, I know, my fans don't like it either."

You gently tugged his hair to turn his face toward you. "They don't understand how much you sacrifice for your roles. How much you put your heart and soul - and health - into your craft. I- I'm worried about you."

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You are exhausted all the time. I don't even remember the last time you came home happy. The last time you had the energy to go out on a date or a walk in the park or..."

You were interrupted by a low, exasperated grumble. Timothée sat up quickly and walked away from you to the kitchen island, all but slumping as he leaned with all his weight on outstretched arms on the counter's ledge.

Fed up, you continued. "Remember. I was here, watching you starve yourself for Beautiful Boy. I was here as you went straight from Bones and All to Wonka to Dune 2 to ACU, and now Marty, watching as your poured your energy into your fans and work instead..." you paused, unsure whether you should continue down this path. "Instead of us. I can't believe they still have you doing press for Dune anyway. Isn't it a bit overplayed by now?"

You instantly cringed, knowing you had crossed a line as you saw his shoulders tense, which blunted your surprise as Timothée slammed his hands down onto the cold marble counter with enough force to rattle the silverware in the drawers below. He turned on his heel, insult clearly written on his face.

"Over-? Guess which movies paid for that brand new car of yours in the driveway, huh? Or this house?!" he snapped back heatedly.

"Timmy, I-"

He held up his palm to cut you off. "No! I had to listen to you rant. Now you get to listen. Acting is the ONLY thing I feel a little bit good at. Take that away, and I-" his voice faltered. "I have nothing," he finished quietly.

In the deafening silence that followed, you visibly deflated, shrinking into yourself and hugging your knees on the couch.

"That's - UGH!" Timothée groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. As you stared down at the plush carpet, you saw him tentatively pad closer in your peripheral vision. He sank to his knees when he reached the couch, looking up to lock eyes with you.

"That is *not* what I meant, Peach," he stated in a much calmer tone. "Without acting, I- I have nothing to offer. To you. The world. This face," he said, pointing to his own, "won't last forever. I have to make the most of it while I still look young."

"You're going to age prematurely if you keep up your current pace," you quipped tersely, breaking his gaze by moving your head to rest your chin on your elbow. "It won't be the end of the world to be typecast into the settled and married dad role, especially if that is what you are."

Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. This wasn't how you wanted to tell him, but your emotions got the best of you.

Timothée sat back slightly. "I'm not a..."

You could almost hear the gears turning in his head. You shifted to look at him once again, your eyes now bloodshot from holding back tears.

"Dad?" he breathed.

You nodded. "I took a test this morning. Wanted to tell you when you got home."

"Oh. Oh, Peach! That's- I- " Timothée stammered. "You- we- we're going to have a baby?" he repeated with bewildered excitement. He practically launched himself from the floor, throwing his arms around you and peppering your cheeks with kisses while you laughed. He pulled back and held your face in his large hands, gently wiping a stray tear from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

It was heartwarming to see genuine happiness light up his face once again, even if just for a fleeting moment before his eyes fell to the ground. "This should have been a happy occasion, but you are probably going to look back at this moment and just remember me yelling at you. One of the most important moments of your life, OUR lives, and I stole the wind from your sails." Now it was his turn to cry as he rested his forehead on your knees.

You gave him a moment to wallow, using the time to carefully think through what you wanted to say. You carded your fingers through his chocolate locks. "Timmy, you will *have* to slow down and take care of yourself if you are going to play a meaningful role in your child's life and mine. Pun intended. Is- is that still a role you want?"

Timothée moved to rest his chin on your knee so he could look up at you with his red-rimmed puppy eyes. "More than anything."

He pushed himself up from the floor to sit beside you on the couch. "May I?" he asked nervously, gesturing his hand toward your stomach. The corners of your mouth pulled into a soft smile as you nodded, to which he replied with a huge grin. *This* was how you had pictured this moment.

Timothée gingerly placed his hand on your belly and laid his head on your shoulder, idly rubbing semicircles with his thumb. He exhaled a contented sigh while you resumed watching the sitcom his arrival interrupted. Within just a few minutes, his idle movements ceased, and soft snoring began. Amused, you rested your cheek against the soft pillow of curls atop his head.

"Rest while you can, love," you whispered as you laid your hand on top of Timothée's on your stomach and let out a contented sigh of your own.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List: @croatianprincess @bluizh @jindongdongie @groovy-lady @pmak2002

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

A quote from Brené Brown about saying "yes" to rest & play, with personal reflection to follow.

Person who wants to do stuff trapped in a body that needs to lie down