I am so tired. So utterly, fundamentally, bone-deep tired. I wake up after eight hours (sometimes nine) and the exhaustion is still there, a dull ache behind my eyes. It’s been this way for years. I thought it was just the demands of my job, the endless parade of crises. (Other people’s crises, always.) But now I’m retired, and it’s worse. There are no clients to see, no reports to write, no emergencies to manage. Just silence. And this crushing weight of fatigue. I care for my husband now. His memory is fading, and he needs me. I am his keeper of dates, his reminder of meals, his everything. And I love him, I do. But sometimes, when he asks the same question for the fifth time in an hour, I feel a surge of something cold and brittle inside me. And I just want to shut my eyes and never open them again. I used to be good at this, at helping people. At having patience. But it feels like that part of me has just… run out. Drained dry. I used to think it was just a matter of getting enough rest. That if I just slept, it would all catch up. (It never does.) But it's not sleep that I need. It’s something else. Something I don't even have a name for. I just know I can't keep going like this. My head hurts. My body hurts. My soul, if such a thing exists, aches. And I just want it to stop.