It’s already here. Before my eyes open. Sneaks in while I’m sleeping. Or trying to.
I’ve given it a name: Futilitor. It looks like this:
And sounds like this:
Today’s going to be terrible. I’m so tired. I’ve got to do that thing and then that other thing, and I won’t cope. Oh god. I’m deficient. What if I’m just lazy? I’m so tired. My neck hurts. I’m going to get a migraine. I’m so fucking tired. What’s the point..?
Futilitor is active the moment I come into consciousness. Futilitor feeds off sleep-deprivation; sucks energy from my organs and replaces it with paralysis venom.
Even on a good day, Futilitor will sniff out a worry it can work with, and turn it into apocalyptic struggle. Futilitor will convince me it speaks objective truth when it says: “You are rubbish at life, you will never get on top of things, it is pointless trying.”
Futilitor sounds evil, but isn’t really. Futilitor is just sad.
Futilitor is a phantom from my past. Futilitor has taken early neglect and turned it into a morning mantra about how difficult life is; and always will be. Futilitor is a child trying to cope with adult burdens, who is ashamed when she can’t do it.
So, I’m trying to soften towards her. Oh, you’re back again, I might say. But I’ll take it from here; I’m an adult and I’ve got skills. It’ll be alright. Maybe not perfect. But ok.
Then I’ll emerge from under the covers and take the leap of faith needed to eject me from the bed. Faith that tells me the day will take care of itself once I stop resisting.
I’ll look over at my partner, who tends to smile and whistle first thing in the morning. (This perplexed me for years and I would only grimace in return). I will look over at our cat and wonder at the miracle that brought us the most beautiful creature that ever prowled the planet. She will pad down the stairs after me, anticipating chicken and fun (the cat, I mean though my partner does like both), and I will put on my little Italian percolator. Maybe spread two thick pieces of toast with peanut butter and slice a banana on top. Wear the olive, bird-print scarf my sister bought me that everyone loves.
I remind myself that, even when I am frightened and weary, it is worth joining the day.