Insomnia

“The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4am knows all my secrets.” 
― Poppy Z. Brite

I think I need to practice writing when I am in the spaces where my mind refuses to let me sleep. I am not entirely certain what it is that keeps me from rest. Whether it be sin, shame, guilt, responsibility, or anxiety. I am often unable to wrestle it to the ground. I know that I am supposed to cast my cares on you, Lord. I am supposed to give you my burdens. I am supposed to let you lead me to still water and quiet my heart. Sometimes I am not sure how to surrender that part of me. I am good at trying to do it myself. I more often than not fail. I have seen speech patterns changing. I try not telling long stories to describe an idea but poorly attempt a metaphoric phase. It’s like when (blank) is (blank). I must admit that this is much more desirable to me. I am concerned that sometimes I am a bore to those around me. They have stopped listening. They have become diss-interested in my ideas. I have worn them out with my immaturity. Why is my picture of myself so awfully distorted? As tho, I am looking through a cold morning’s frosted mirror. How long do I wait before it is clear enough to say the things that I ought and I am not longer in danger of saying the things that I ought not? Sometimes I feel that my mouth should not open for an entire day. Like a bad storm that won’t quit. You might as well wait till all the snowfalls before you blow it away. The temptation to chip away at the task can be so irresistible tho. Who knows maybe you will save yourself hurt later on. 

My dad is a shitty character in this second rate story of mine. God is slowly rewriting the script that was so carelessly or unintentionally scrambled up like the only type of eggs that I know how to make. How do I describe the worst tormentor in my life? In some ways, I honestly believe that he never intended to do the damage he did, like a new puppy that pisses all over your house because he doesn’t know any better. Do you blame the puppy or God for giving you a dumb-ass puppy? How do you explain to this puppy that what he did was wrong and that he is forgiven but there is that little fact that the house still smells like urine and will probably never be the same? Kinda like seeing something that urges the phrase, “well I’ll never get those ten seconds back”. The puppy cowards in the corner of the room pretending to be the victim while you are left walking through a house that is soaked in urine. It is in places that you didn’t even know urine could get. How do you explain to this poor little creature that it’s not his fault because no one told him where to piss. And now the puppy won’t go anywhere near you because it thinks that you will drown it or kick it or worst of all leave it forever. (Am I this puppy too? I am) You know someday that you will get to a point where you can leave the puppy home and come back to a house the same way you left it but for now that trust isn’t there. So I lock the mothafucker up in the kennel wag my finger at it and say I’ll be back later. Don’t mess in your kennel. How can you survive when all you know is the distance? Like you are participating in life from the other side of the glass at the zoo. Able to see everything but never engage. Always longing but never having the knowledge to get to the other side. Feeling left out, forgotten, and overlooked. I am the bag that the meal came in. Stuck with something that has served its purpose but is no longer desirable. Guilt for throwing it away but no need for it. So just throw it to the back of the car with the rest of them. Maybe you will find a use one day, or just when they pile up enough to annoyance, we’ll have a fire. Then explain to the bag that you are doing it a favor, that you did your part by saving them for so long, and that you tried to think of good uses. But this is for the best. Who’s best? Eh, who cares about the bag anyways. 

I don’t know what’s there is in that last section. I might send that to Gabe. It’s almost 3 am and I am still plagued with sleeplessness. I know that it is partly my fault but I seem to pick the most inconvenient times to not sleep. Maybe I’ll try again now. 3 hours is better than no hours.