I’m not sleeping.
I’m not sleeping so the boogy men are coming out to tromp on my self-worth, pick at the dark circles, the wrinkles, the… I go out, try to sit quietly amongst the clans of gabby lunch goers, drink my coffee. I am trying to take in what they have without being overwhelmed by it. It’s a real oil and water ordeal.
I go out, try to sit quietly amongst the clans of gabby lunch goers.
When I don’t sleep, I don’t get up, because come morning I’ve already been up a dozen times in the night, my head feels heavier than a pumpkin, it throbs and creaks like an old porch door, and the pillow feels softer than it is. The bed feels like a safe raft. Zephyr comes up and lies beside me. I can press my head against his warm, breathing fur. It helps quiet it all.
The bed feels like a safe raft.
When I rise finally, I start comparing. All my lacks against all their strides–you know, “them.” I am falling behind, even when I am making small steps to get ahead. They feel like they are never enough. For every step up I make, I fall back a flight of stairs. The bruises are adding up.
For every step up I make, I fall back a flight of stairs. The bruises are adding up.
It’s difficult being alone, because there is no one to lean on, to wrap their arms around me, counter attack my negative grocery list. I have to be my own blanket, my own healer, my own everything. I spend a lot of time battling good against evil in my head. It’s exhausting.
The only thing I know to do is start over, again and again and again.
As I sit here, my laundry list grows longer and I watch it unfurl like ticker tape. It is mesmerizing.