…’cause there’s beauty in the breakdown.
There’s not enough melatonin, or seroquel, or wine on this planet to silence the white noise that blares in my head on a nightly basis. I would want nothing more than to know what it feels like to lay in my bed and drift off into a peaceful sleep without the sledgehammer of sleep aids.
I stopped writing again. I’m not sure why. Sometimes I grow weary of hearing my thoughts echo as I write them out. Sometimes I feel like no one is listening. What I do know is not writing…not “journaling”…not “expressing” myself…whatever…means no sleep. Swallowing all these words leaves a perpetual lump in my throat.
Honestly, I prefer not to have my thoughts, feelings, and fears etched into the stone that is the internet, but I don’t feel like I can directly express myself to the people I hold dear. So writing here allows me to speak, and allows them to “hear” without being directly responsible for my feelings. WIn-win, no?
My job is overwhelming. Abuse, domestic violence, abject poverty, struggle, neglect, hopelessness, mental illness, rape, homelessness, disease…until I feel like I can’t absorb much more…until the end of my shift draws near. Then I turn to face the struggles of some of my closest friends and family. And I find myself lacking the empathy and sensitivity they absolutely need and deserve. I battle with grasping the art of companionship because the career path I’ve chosen is brutal and unforgiving. I’m genuinely sorry I can’t be what is needed.
Tomorrow, I wish to remain under my big down comforter. Protected from responsibilities, expectations, and bills.
Here’s some “Yeah, duh…” knowledge for ya: Beware of sociopaths. I know the word has a certain connotation, but when you really think about the profile of a sociopath, I’m sure one or two people come to mind.
Some of these individuals are attracted to people who have that glow. A light that shines so bright it draws attention away from their darkness. They feed off of your brilliance. Initially, it seems as if they are simply basking in it, loving you for it… but eventually their Cimmerian nature becomes stifling. Damn near painful.
Protect your light.
Girrrl. Stop It.
If that’s the case B-Rock (we cool like that) please travel back in time and fire the Dorm Monitor that caught me running up the hallway with a bottle of vodka in my pants while covered head to toe in Frooty-O’s because I was a “Cereal Killer” for Halloween.
Fair is Fair.
LMAOOOOO Patrice is a MESS.