It’s after 4am. It’s Day 5 for me not being able to turn my brain off at night. The half a Valium my mom gave me a while ago is starting to help, but I’m still lying in bed wide awake, staring at the wall. I got a thought in my head I wanted to share before I lose it in the fog of drowsy blankness.
When I speak, my words are like air. They disappear as soon as they are spoken and float away like they never existed. Lately whenever I open my mouth to talk one of two things go along with it: tears or humiliation. Tears because I hurt all the time and when I do have the energy to talk and the words to say things, it hurts so much to get it out. It’s like my voice box is connected to my tear ducts. Humiliation because when I open my mouth when I have to talk to strangers it’s nothing but flustered, awkward mutterings like I’m some crazy lady with eighteen cats.
So I write. I text my friends to let them know I’m still around. I e-mail my family happy birthdays and congratulations because I don’t have the strength to say anything more out loud. I blog because when I hurt, my words become cement. I can look back and reflect on them when I’m really happy (one day) to see if I can find what maybe triggered me to write those words in the first place and learn from them. I can read them when I’m feeling awful and know that one time, I had a good day. Remember that day Hed? It’s not always this bad, I can tell myself.
My memory has been failing me since this depression cloud shit all over my life. If I didn’t document it all I would be doomed to repeat certain cycles that I don’t want in my life anymore. So I write.
It’s all I have at the moment. I write.