December 21, 2011

  • Sleep's Suicide

    What do you imagine the moment you close your eyes?

    Is it different when you know that you can have a few hours of rest? What resounds in the receded caves and crevasses of your mind?

     

    I've found that sleep is very hard for me to come by, peaceably.

    I can't decide whether it's the silence I'm scared of or if it's the fact that I've been so adjusted to hearing loud noises at night. It's not just loud noises, it's anger. When the girls next door walk around yelling "PENIS" or blasting music at 4 in the morning, it's not the same as my family throwing a synchronized tantrum. 

    But the silence... the silence might scare me. Yes, I believe I might be scared of silence.

    It's not just that it's devoid of  the noises of serenity or even the familiar battles, of anger, of adrenaline, and suspense, awaiting danger... 

    It's the fact that I'm left alone to my own thoughts that

    ...

    you ever feel drowned by yourself, your brain, your doubts and desires,

    and you see these all in flashes and episodes, or just total blackness, when your eyes shut, when your senses concentrate together.

    I'm sure this sleep that I yearn for is deeper than the body's inability to find a restful state. It's the soul that becomes penetrated, stabbed, by my own thoughts, by me. And if there's one thing that you can learn in life it's that a person can take so much physical pain if only her/his emotions are not facing demons. 

    when i close my eyes, it's just blackness, sometimes it drips with crimson stains.

    or i envision a dream that I want to reach and watch it like a puzzle piece crack, but i drown those out with other thoughts that then drown me out by their weight.

    I guess this is something that I'll just go through, it's a plague on sleep that's been lingering since I could first remember my dreams. And slowly, as my body decays, so does the vision and existence of sleep. I don't know how to sleep anymore. 

    When I was 4 I was so disappointed I had not rememberd my 16 times tables. I had disappointed my dad, not just because of my birth but because of my intellectual deficiency. And I remember, though there were moments before, being haunted by a taunting sleep, or rather, rest.

    The body's batter can recharge but the soul's stability can drain or add to the stored energy. I seem to slip in to a stagnant, quiet, blinded state of stillness in which my reserves do not 

     but perhaps this is essential to my livelihood, that, as a friend once said, I don't know if I have another choice ... 

    for now.

    if only there was a real relief button...

    someone willing to wade with me through sleep's aftermath, leting me skim the surface while slowly unwinding my soul. 

     

    (OK for those of you who actually read this, thisis really just somewhat of a diary entry of osmehting i've been entertaining in my mind for my entier life since I could form memories. I ain't suicidal.)