4PM Saturday ------
I am so freakin tired...
My body feels like it’s made of sandpaper and I keep rubbing myself the wrong way.
I have this neat little sleep disorder...used to be called a light sleeper because a pin drop can wake me up...but it’s really more than that now. I progressed to having to sleep with a fan on just to block out the noise.
The cat's purrs.
That freakin ringy humm from nowhere in particular.
Worst of all, that incessant chatter in my head.
I don’t hear voices. It’s not that way at all...it’s more I see scenarios and I go over each and every thing that has me stressed a hundred times, playing out the possibilities in my head. I can actually hear myself mentally saying ‘you just figure this one thing out, find a suitable solution, and then you can crash’ but it doesn’t work that way because I have so many things going on in my head that the problems are constantly shifting back and forth and really giving me no time to think clearly on any of them.
So you get what I have going now...
Extreme exhaustion...even more extreme unquiet mind.
Hot coco doesn’t help...
Exercising doesn’t help...
Reading and tv and drawing don’t help
The low hum of the fan gets its ass kicked and muffled by the sirens going off in my head about bills and school and the website and my career and my dad and the other one, who wants to play my dad now after ten years, and money and too many dogs and the girlfriend, or rather the ex girlfriend I suppose, or maybe it’s just a hiatus, there is a shotgun by my bed and it’s always loaded and I think I could silence everything with one little click, but there are just so many people I’d like to use that on first.
So I wait, and I recycle everything back to the bills...
The dogs lying around the bed have gas bad enough to strip the paint off the walls too...so maybe it’s oxygen deprivation and not a real desire to kill myself and take everyone within a city block with me...
But I live in the country. Nearest neighbor is a good football field away and that’s really a long way to walk for a little casual homicide...
So I just lie there with my eyes wanting to bleed and my head feeling like it’s in a race with my chest to explode before the other can collapse as the soft grating, fucking sounds of pokemon and that damned Sponge Bob show literally assault me from the living room.
Why did I give up drinking?
Abstinence sucks, trying day in and day out and getting nowhere sucks, being stabbed in the back constantly freakin sucks.
I’m sick of being frustrated.
I’m sick of being ineffective.
I’m sick of getting no respect.
I’m sick of fearing that this really is as good as it gets.
The other night I had a dream. I got out of bed (in my dream) and walked into the bathroom...only it wasn’t my bathroom, it was the bathroom I used to have when I was a kid, my parents old house. Sitting on the edge of the tub in black and leather was a man...
I honest to god think it was one of the characters from my stories...
And he’s smoking...and I just look at him thinking what the hell is this guy doing sitting on my tub, I have to take a piss, you freak.
Then he takes the cigarette from his mouth and he looks me dead in the eye and he tells me... “This is it, this is all you get. You’re never going to finish anything, you are never going to get anywhere...look around you...this IS your life.” I don’t even get to tell him to kiss my ass because the phone rings to wake me up and it’s a fucking bill collector.