(no subject)
It isn't so much insomnia; it's a fear of going to sleep.
But it's not really the fear of sleeping, at all.
It's the inelectable fact that I'll start to think about it.
I can push it away for incredulous periods of time. But during the haze when the world I know and recognize meshes with the abyss of God knows what repressions and inane fantasies, the soil is prime for planting seeds of panic.
And when I think about it in solitude, there are no boundaries. Nobody's there to tell me that I'm being irrational. Irrationality is a trivial concern to my disjointed mind. Silence breeds horrible monsters.
But it's not really the fear of sleeping, at all.
It's the inelectable fact that I'll start to think about it.
I can push it away for incredulous periods of time. But during the haze when the world I know and recognize meshes with the abyss of God knows what repressions and inane fantasies, the soil is prime for planting seeds of panic.
And when I think about it in solitude, there are no boundaries. Nobody's there to tell me that I'm being irrational. Irrationality is a trivial concern to my disjointed mind. Silence breeds horrible monsters.