My Tired is Tired

My Tired is Tired

A True Short Story

Chapter One

The Life of a Man Who Never Stopped Carrying

This is the life of a man whose tired is not something sleep can fix.

It is not the tired of a long day, or a hard week. It is the kind of tired that settles into the bones, that lives in the mind, that quietly follows you through every stage of life.

At 68 years old, he has reached a point where his tiredness has become something else entirely, a lifetime of carrying, of enduring, of holding things in that were never meant to be carried alone. Yet if you met him, you might not see it. Because this kind of tired does not always show. He was not like other children.

At just eight years old, he was told something that would echo through the rest of his life, that he was not truly wanted. Not in anger, not in cruelty, but in a way that made it even harder to understand. It was said plainly, almost matter-of-fact, followed by reassurance that his parents would still raise him well, give him values, and prepare him for a good future.

So, as a child, he learned something complicated far too early, that love could exist without feeling like love. That being taken care of did not mean being chosen. It planted a quiet question inside him that never really left, Am I enough?

Responsibility came early, long before he understood what it meant. He was given chores, expectations, structure, the kind that forces a child to grow up faster than they should. His parents lived busy lives, often absent, and the house would fall silent at night. In that silence, fear would creep in, not loud, not visible, but constant.

He was afraid of the dark. Not just the darkness in the room, but the feeling that came with it. The emptiness. The unknown. So he created his own refuge. Behind his cupboard, hidden away from the world, he built a small space where he felt safe. It was not much, just a makeshift bed, a confined corner, but it was his. A place where he could retreat when everything else felt too big, too quiet, too uncertain.

Around his neck, he wore a small sack filled with garlic, given to him by his grandmother to keep away demons and spirits. As a child, he believed in it. He held onto it. But the real demons were never outside. They were the loneliness, the fear, the longing to feel held, and those stayed with him.

Boarding school came next. It was meant to build independence, to shape him into someone strong and capable. And in many ways, it did. But it also deepened something else. It taught him how to live without expecting comfort. Without expecting to be missed. So he adapted in the only way he knew how, he tried harder.

He became a strong student, disciplined, focused, determined. He pushed himself to achieve, to stand out, to be recognized. But beneath all of that effort was something much quieter, much more fragile. He was not chasing success. He was chasing acceptance. Every achievement was a silent question, Do I matter now? Am I seen now?

His friends became his family, filling the spaces that were empty. With them, he felt something close to belonging. But even then, there was always a part of him that held back, that protected itself, that never fully believed it would last. Slowly, without anyone noticing, the tiredness began to grow. Not from doing too much, but from feeling too much, alone.

By the time he reached high school, he had learned how to carry himself. Life had not necessarily improved, but he had adapted to it. He built strong friendships and deeper connections. The people around him became the brothers and sisters he never had. With them, he found laughter, shared experiences, moments that felt real. But there was always a contrast. Weekends came, and the halls would empty.

Other boys went home to families, to warmth, to familiarity. He stayed behind. Dorm rooms became quieter. Time stretched longer. And once again, he turned inward. Books became his escape. His thoughts became his world. Inside his mind, he created something different, a life where he belonged without question, where he was wanted without needing to prove it.

It was a peaceful place. But it was not real. Then came a truth that shifted everything. He was told he had a half-brother. A secret that had been kept from him for years. When they finally met, something unexpected happened, they connected almost immediately. There was no need for explanations, no need for forced conversation. It was as if they recognized something in each other. Pain. Loneliness. Understanding.

They formed a bond that was quiet, but powerful. One that existed beneath the surface, where words were not always necessary. For the first time in a long time, he felt a connection that didn’t require him to prove anything. He could just be.

As his final year of high school came to an end, a new chapter approached. He was called up to serve in the army. For once, he felt something close to anticipation. The structure, the discipline, the identity of being a soldier, it appealed to him. It felt like a place where he might finally belong without question. But before that chapter could begin, everything changed.

One evening, during a weekend at home, the house was quiet again. His parents were out, as they often were. He walked to his half-brother’s room and knocked. No answer. He knocked again. Still nothing. So he opened the door. In that moment, his life split into two. Before and after.

His brother was gone. Hanging in silence. A life ended by pain too heavy to carry any longer. There are moments in life that do not just hurt, they alter you. This was one of them. It was the first time he had ever seen death, not as an idea, not as something distant, but as something real, immediate, and irreversible. It was not just death. It was loss. Shock. Confusion. Guilt. Questions that would never have answers.

Why did I not know? Could I have stopped it? What was he carrying that I couldn’t see? That moment didn’t just stay in his memory. It settled into him. It became part of him. From that day forward, something changed inside him. Not visibly. Not in a way the world could easily see. But deeply.

It was the beginning of a wound that would never fully close. The beginning of thoughts that would return without warning. The beginning of a heaviness that would follow him into every chapter that came next. It was the beginning of a different kind of tired. Still, he carried on. He finished school. He succeeded. He earned distinctions that reflected his discipline and determination.

To the outside world, it looked like strength. But it was not strength in the way people think. It was endurance. It was survival. It was waking up each day and continuing forward, even when something inside you has already been shaken. A few short weeks later, after a quiet Christmas break, he stepped into the next phase of his life.

The army awaited him. Structure. Purpose. Identity. But also, something else. Something that would add to the weight he was already carrying. Something that would shape the man he would become. Because his story, was far from over. The tiredness he felt then, was only just beginning.....

Follow for Chapter 2

Created By ; 

✍Life Coach, Author, Article Writer, Novelist & Poet✍

Marius F Robbertze (WOLF)

AKA (MFR ™) ©®