It’s 10 minutes to eleven. The latest I’ve stayed up in a while, or rather, the latest I’ve been active and awake. Most nights I’m actually still awake till after midnight, laying on one side or the other in that moment before falling asleep. Till last year, it was always a point of pride that I could sleep well. I could always fall asleep reasonably quickly.
Even with an obsessive mind, I could him a jingle or showtime chorus over and over until I was asleep.
These days, it’s harder. The meds that time release my focus meds don’t stop at 9pm and the thoughts of the day bounce around in my head to the beat of that same jingle.
I rock. I change sides. I obsess. I am awake at 2am worrying about being awake at 3am.
Tonight I came home earlier than yesterday. I was in the door by three and have been looking a sadness in every distracted moment. That feeling where you want to cry, but won’t. I can feel the tear waiting in my socket like an understudy dancer in the wings hoping to get on stage.
A similar sadness I suspect.
I watched TV but couldn’t bring myself to work. I tried, but a frustration that I would normally see as a gun challenge instead blocked me like a wall. It’s hard to focus on a mood of sadness.
It’s hard to do anything with that looming around. When the phone rang from a friend, I had an hour off, away from my mood to be joyful and watch this week’s TV Survivor episode. A phone date I truly enjoy. I did my best to enjoy it this week, but as I hung up the phone at the end, the unsigned gloom returned.
I also itch. I’m also poor. Im also hungry.
I’m alone. I can seek verbal comfort but it doesn’t help today. Sleep won’t. Food might.
It’s 11pm. Thursday. Day 10 behind on rent. Far behind, not that it matters more or less. My life is a series of loops and today, I don’t see a way to break the cycle.
I’m not suicidal. I won’t kill myself, but believing there is a chance is what got me a physiatrist in the first place (I learned).
I’m just sad. It’ll pass… Eventually, but not until after some bad mood things.
I don’t like that sentence. Bad things don’t have to happen. This job is hurting me. This job is hurting my happiness, on do many levels. It makes me feel useless. It makes me feel fake. It makes me feel like, even if I do it well, it won’t solve my sadness. I am just waiting till I fail.
No. I am afraid I will… It doesn’t mean I will.
Writing turned downhill… I’ll stop, and lay awake till 3am.
I like that ending. Or not.
- May 17, 2019 @ 11:13:09 [Current Revision] by Jeff Goebel
- May 17, 2019 @ 11:13:09 by Jeff Goebel