Mental Health, Random

Awake, Part 9

Asleep or awake I let you down…

I woke up two hours earlier than my normally early wakeup time (of late, anyway). Between 2000 and 0130, I had some potent dreams.

It is daytime to evening. My brother and I are young. He’s like how I usually remember him, not how he is now. No dreadlocks and wants to play with big sister. We live in a large, rustic home. (We never lived in one of those, but it is a dream of mine to do so. See what I did there?) We’re young, but old enough to have a party because Mom and Dad are out. However, we don’t count on how rambunctious our friends and neighbors are. We don’t count on the damage internal and external. We don’t count on the unknown unknowns. We know what we can count on, though. So, we rush to bed before Mom and Dad get home. (We used to do this when we were little, it if it was too early for sleep, we’d hide under our bed.) We can’t clean everything or fix the destroyed things. We can’t freeze time to make it look like nothing happened. This isn’t Rick and Morty. Dad will be pissed. We will owe him some of the money we somehow have (because it’s a dream!). We’re out $935 apiece. We’re out the pieces of us that drifted away in fear. We’re out the words lodged at us in anger that drifted in one ear and out the other. I am wondering if all my wrongdoing could be quantified in a dollar amount. But, who would I pay? What would it solve?

Somehow, it is now the first day of school. I have to get my class schedule and arrive to homeroom by 0730. There’s a problem with my check-in, as usual. My brother’s goes smoothly as usual. They’re trying to find me via identification number. I happen to remember it off my head. But, it’s not my old P.G. County student ID of 13 years. It’s one of my user IDs to access a database at work. In a half-lucid state, I realize the numbers are the same, but in a different order. I wonder why, at 32, I never dream of failing at my job. I dream of whole semesters not attending class, unsubmitted assignments, final exams I haven’t studied for. I dream of FAILING school (which I came close to my third year of college, surprise!) and never getting to work on the first place.

Dear subconscious… What the hell? Is daydreaming of failure not enough? Must you incorporate it into my night dreams and make me think on it while I lie sleepless? You are greedy. You are unforgiving. You play the victim unceasingly. I need you, and conscious, and conscience to get together. Have it out. Figure out what burden is weighing so heavily on the three of you and why the only catharsis you can come to without violence is keeping me awake or thinking my dreams. Get your shit together. I want to dream about winged unicorns and leprechauns and other mythical beings and things that die when I wake up.

Mental Health, Random

Awake, Part 8

I know why the caged bird sings…

How I long to be free of my self-imposed battle with guilt. All the things I’ve done, all the ways I’ve wronged someone, all the things I’ve said, all the mistakes I’ve made, every embarrassing moment orbits the edge of thought trying to break into my brain’s gravitational field. I try to keep the thoughts at bay. Damn by interminable, long memory. It is like my grandmother’s, who at 100 years old, could spout of details of not only all of her offspring’s long ago mishaps, but her own childhood. I envy those who can easily forget and shake off the little things.

I’m afraid to sleep because I’m afraid to dream.

I’m afraid to wake because I’m afraid to think.

Where is the happy balance? Where is the freedom from this self-inflicted tyranny? Hope do I get out of this vicious cycle that keeps me caged in monotony, vulnerability, fear, and one damnably terrible sleep pattern?

The caged bird sings of freedom.


Awake, Part 7

I am thinking of you, in my sleepless solitude tonight.

Awake again. I’m beginning to associate lack of sleep with normalcy. But, at least, I’m being productive.

I drank too much wine and the brain fog is settling in. But, at least I enjoyed it.

My Fitbit says my heart rate is 102. I don’t know if it’s the wine, the position I’m in, or anxiety about yet another day back to work. But, it’s Fat Burn zone, so maybe I’ll shed some pounds in my state of confusion.

I’ve discovered new pastimes for sleepless nights. One is writing my thoughts for others to read. The other is reading the thoughts others write. In some strange way, I feel bonded to everyone else who is awake right now, either because sleep is evasive or because it’s daytime in their time zone. But, strange though it is, it is also somewhat gratifying to feel like part of an unknown something.

I am thinking of you. I have been all day. You showed up in my dreams during the little sleep I did get. Now, I do not know if being awake is a blessing. But, it was good to see your face.

Poetry, Random

Awake, Part 4

My dreams, they gotta kiss me, ’cause I don’t get sleep, no.

I actually got a fair amount of sleep tonight/this morning. I dreamed that I had been robbed at gunpoint, that people around me lacked sympathy for it; that I was being forced to embrace a religion I didn’t care about; and that one of my parents suggested I give up engineering to become a dentist. Our subconscious mind… It’s out of control. Now, I’m choosing to be awake because I don’t want to dream anymore. Sleep had given me far too much to think about.


The mind will let go
Willfully and with resolve
Longing to be purged
It finds the narrow path
Pushing doggedly forward
To some sort of sanity
Or so it would like to believe
The heart tries to move on
Wistfully and with longing
It is a bit cowardly
It knows better though
And attempts to mimic the mind
Only thing it takes
Are its own broken pieces
And a memory… Or two…
In comes the subconscious!
The cocky snit
Knows it can’t be controlled
Sneaks into our speech
Turns reason irrational
Wreaks havoc on dreams
So even in sleep there is no peace
Even the hand twitches towards… Something…
Teases and tortures mind and heart
With what they’ve been trying to forget
Perhaps vengeful because it remembers all
Maybe not cocky…
Maybe lonely…
It brings the pieces of the soul back together
No longer separated by a strange harmony
Dissonant together