Sometimes, You Just Don't Have Any Answers
I can't tell you that this blog will be funny or entertaining in the near future. I'm crawling into this black hole and writing every now and then just to try to keep my skeleton inside my body.
My usual daily routine for the past 11 days has included about 16 hours of sleep. When I’m not dreaming, I want to be. I start begging to go to bed for the night in the late afternoon. As though my battery is incredibly low and I’m half conscious.
When I first got to bed mid-morning 10 days ago, the sleeping continued. This was a bit of a blessing, because I could tell myself that I was getting to do what I wanted to do: sleep as much as I want. Most of the time I did not even realize I was not in bed.
Last night, however when I woke around 1:00 a.m., everything went tilt. I started talking and did not stop. I did not sleep a single wink, I talked NON-STOP all night, from when I got here to when I left my old home. And I don't care HOW melodramatic this may sound, but it was as though Satan himself had written the script for me to directly torture all and sundry.
These were my repetitive lines:
"I was beginning to think I was going to GNC today.""Why can't I go home?""Why won't you let me go home?""I thought I was a good boy. I must be a bad boy or I would get to go home.""Don't people miss me anymore? I miss them!""I don't like it here. I want to go home.""Why can't I sleep in the same place again?""Who determines when I get to go home?""I don't want to stay here the rest of my life. I need to go home."
And it DID. NOT. STOP.
It felt like I was putting cigarettes out on my arm. I felt so drained, ached all the way to my bones, and wanted to duct tape my mouth shut.
I was stunned by exhaustion and guilt and grief when I went to sleep at dawn.
This is what a man, abandoned, endures. Left behind, imprisoned, living in meaninglessness, trying to make rational decisions, trying to find a reason to go on. Left behind in lucidity.
