insomnia
So, it's nearly 1 AM. It probably will be past 1 AM by the time I finish typing this and/or delete it or post it. I'm an early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise-r by nature, but tonight I can't sleep. I simply can't. When I blew out my candles to fall asleep, I stupidly managed to spill some hot wax on my arm. I guess it woke me. I spent an hour tossing and turning, then went to the kitchen and read for an hour, or perhaps it was two. I came back and tossed and turned for another twenty minutes or so, and turned on my computer, and eventually came to post this.
My tossings and turnings bore many imaginings: of the ocean on my walls -- and I want to paint my bedroom blue, three shades of blue in three shades of life and mood to me -- and of a new bed (this one is far too narrow, and my feet hang off the end). I dreamt of the wind whistling and telling me things, although I was not asleep enough to dream, and although the wind is not blowing except in gentle summery breaths through my open window. I cried, at one point, for the sorrow inherent in humanity, I think -- or at least, I have no idea why I was crying. I'm crying now, again, still, and I'm none the wiser.
My stomach aches, and my belly is cramping painfully, and my heart hurts worse. I'm hugging the plush bear Joe gave me when last we met and crying into the soft fur. I don't mind crying on principle, but I hate the feeling of tears running down my cheeks or across my nose or into my ears. Though I've thought, sometimes, of what it would be like to never have him again; the uncertainty that plagues me now is a harsh reminder of those thoughts. Fleeing into his hugs is the sweetest thought I have, the dream I cling to when these moods strike, but when I'm unsure of the soonest I can actually do so... it hurts me even worse.
It's not that I'm unsure that I will see him again, though that lingers beneath in the darkness, barely visible. I'm unsure of when, and although I've learned flexibility in place of rigid plans that govern everything in ritualized formation, having a rope ladder instead of a steel one is no good if I have nowhere to tie it to, nowhere to climb towards. When I came online, the first site I went to was Continental Airlines. I so very nearly hit "buy" when I found a ticket -- one month for ~$600 total, leaving on this next Thursday; two days and ten hours from now. My heart beat harder and my stomach ached worse, and I couldn't choke back sobs when I forced myself to close the window and recite rote chants of "It wouldn't be practical, don't be stupid, don't be a burden or an impediment on everyone else, your happiness doesn't mean anything".... They are familiar chants. I thought I'd given them up. They are the beginnings of prayers to a depression I once relied upon and suckled upon: "I am your butter and your bread/ I am the voice inside your head/ I am the one who fills you up/ with a lack of being fed". "Quo me nutruit, me atterit: What nourishes me, destroys me". "And the kick is so divine when she sees bones beneath the skin; she says, 'Hey baby, can you bleed like me?'".
And the irony of it is that I can come to the same conclusion -- "I am worthless" -- from two points that are so vastly different. The only way to counter it is to believe that I am loved and that I am worth that love, and the love I give in return is considered to be worth something. It's harder to believe that all that is true in regards to my own family, than in regards to Joe. For a long time, I haven't doubted my parents' and siblings' love as much as I consider it as obligatory as it is unconditional. I guess that's why my love for Joe is easier to believe in. It's not obligatory, but it is unconditional. I'm quite certain that the same could be said of his love for me.
That same conclusion doesn't come naturally to our relationship. I don't want to besmirch it by forcing myself to think these thoughts, but the other option is saying "FUCK IT!" (and trust me, it would come out as a scream), buying that ticket, getting on the plane in two days and worrying about the consequences later.
It's very tempting to just hit "buy". (And it quite helps that cause that I can actually afford the damn ticket, too).
My tossings and turnings bore many imaginings: of the ocean on my walls -- and I want to paint my bedroom blue, three shades of blue in three shades of life and mood to me -- and of a new bed (this one is far too narrow, and my feet hang off the end). I dreamt of the wind whistling and telling me things, although I was not asleep enough to dream, and although the wind is not blowing except in gentle summery breaths through my open window. I cried, at one point, for the sorrow inherent in humanity, I think -- or at least, I have no idea why I was crying. I'm crying now, again, still, and I'm none the wiser.
My stomach aches, and my belly is cramping painfully, and my heart hurts worse. I'm hugging the plush bear Joe gave me when last we met and crying into the soft fur. I don't mind crying on principle, but I hate the feeling of tears running down my cheeks or across my nose or into my ears. Though I've thought, sometimes, of what it would be like to never have him again; the uncertainty that plagues me now is a harsh reminder of those thoughts. Fleeing into his hugs is the sweetest thought I have, the dream I cling to when these moods strike, but when I'm unsure of the soonest I can actually do so... it hurts me even worse.
It's not that I'm unsure that I will see him again, though that lingers beneath in the darkness, barely visible. I'm unsure of when, and although I've learned flexibility in place of rigid plans that govern everything in ritualized formation, having a rope ladder instead of a steel one is no good if I have nowhere to tie it to, nowhere to climb towards. When I came online, the first site I went to was Continental Airlines. I so very nearly hit "buy" when I found a ticket -- one month for ~$600 total, leaving on this next Thursday; two days and ten hours from now. My heart beat harder and my stomach ached worse, and I couldn't choke back sobs when I forced myself to close the window and recite rote chants of "It wouldn't be practical, don't be stupid, don't be a burden or an impediment on everyone else, your happiness doesn't mean anything".... They are familiar chants. I thought I'd given them up. They are the beginnings of prayers to a depression I once relied upon and suckled upon: "I am your butter and your bread/ I am the voice inside your head/ I am the one who fills you up/ with a lack of being fed". "Quo me nutruit, me atterit: What nourishes me, destroys me". "And the kick is so divine when she sees bones beneath the skin; she says, 'Hey baby, can you bleed like me?'".
And the irony of it is that I can come to the same conclusion -- "I am worthless" -- from two points that are so vastly different. The only way to counter it is to believe that I am loved and that I am worth that love, and the love I give in return is considered to be worth something. It's harder to believe that all that is true in regards to my own family, than in regards to Joe. For a long time, I haven't doubted my parents' and siblings' love as much as I consider it as obligatory as it is unconditional. I guess that's why my love for Joe is easier to believe in. It's not obligatory, but it is unconditional. I'm quite certain that the same could be said of his love for me.
That same conclusion doesn't come naturally to our relationship. I don't want to besmirch it by forcing myself to think these thoughts, but the other option is saying "FUCK IT!" (and trust me, it would come out as a scream), buying that ticket, getting on the plane in two days and worrying about the consequences later.
It's very tempting to just hit "buy". (And it quite helps that cause that I can actually afford the damn ticket, too).