These days, they turn into nights so quickly. And these nights? They turn into days in the blink of an eye although sometimes it feels like the day bleeds deeply into the night though you can’t tell by the look of the sky. It just creates this sense that I’m supposed to keep moving. Or maybe it’s just that my mind won’t stop thinking like it does in the daytime and sometimes it moves faster. I just wish my nights were longer than the moment between when I wake up and when I go to sleep. It’s just nonstop movement in some direction that I’ve obviously sight of if I can’t even decide between being nocturnal or diurnal.
These thoughts have just become so real even though I haven’t really decided to function for a couple of days. I haven’t really showered or gone anywhere. I barely had the energy to change my clothes today. This is a new taste of an old thing, you know where I have to say goodbye to the bright side of everything and focus so calmly on the darkness inside of me that I sometimes realize I’ve had my eyes closed for minutes on end or I’ve been staring off into space which made that guy over there a little uncomfortable. As if he knows the meaning of the word, I think to myself.
Because I am the king of feeling uncomfortable in my own skin as I swallow the hopes of ever really understanding the depths of my sin. I can see it in the lines carved into my face and even though I look 5 years younger without a beard I wonder if really I was just hiding something or protecting something or swallowing something more than I usually do daily.
This moment of rest has turned to a moment without feeling. An anesthetic for the moment while I try my best not to unrest my current state of mind because if I wrestle with it then it only becomes more real. Let me pause a second and breathe deeply in through my nose and out my mouth again to slow down the pulse of anxiety that is on the ebb and flow in the background static of this bittersweet, sweet anodyne.
It has come to the point where, though I don’t realize it at first, I do things just to evoke a reaction. Not just from others thought that provides an ample amount of entertainment as well. No, I’m talking about from within myself. I have fallen in love with modern day love stories, ones that tell of the rise, fall, demise and rebirth of love. But like 500 Days of Summer this is not a love story I’m telling because I kissed that goodbye a long time ago it seems and it has never come back to greet me, haunt me or try to kill me since it put the heel of its boots to me years ago. And I get the desired reaction, I actually feel something deep within me but it goes away like a high I never sought ought but a drug I can’t let go of.
I write this story down, if you can call it a story, because I can’t express myself speaking but I can sure write a pretty line. I romanticize so much of the garbage I deal with it’s not even funny but it’s the best way I know how to put it. I hope some day someone understands it. Until then I will let these fingers fly across this keyboard in hopes that it will one day give me the wings to fly free of this permanently. But until then I am Sisyphus rolling a stone across a page only to have it return to the next line for me to start over again. And again. And again.
Until the pressure eases I can’t stop doing this. I need to relearn how to breathe easy or maybe I just need to find something to occupy my time. I’ll find out tomorrow, I guess when my schedule becomes a mess and I with it.
Praying for survival.