Insomniatic

It’s funny how, when I’ve got the whole day empty and no plans, that sleep demands me. It grabs me and drags me in – nothing I try can stop it. It becomes a necessity. A drug. A blissful escape.
On the flip side, when I have limited time and know that I have to wake up in, say, five and a half hours, sleep becomes the elusive wisp of a thread of something I can only imagine, as though it were never real at all.
And then I dream. I’m angry. Powerful. Someone wants to hurt me, or hurt someone I love, and I lash out. I conquer, am victorious. And then I cry, every time.


I wish I could be a part of someone else. Not just to understand them, but to experience them, what is really is to live what they live and know what they know. Then maybe I would find whether or not I’m truly as much a freak as I seem to me.

And then I think about pain. Am I strong? Or so weak that I crumble at a touch? I can’t say, because my only measurements are vague and subjective. I’ve never had surgery or a broken bone, so I can’t compare to other people. I don’t know if or when I’m allowed to cry. So I don’t cry. Not when anyone can see me. I only cry in quiet, in the dark alone, or in my dreams. I used to tell myself that I would let myself cry as soon as I had a shoulder to cry on. So now when I have someone, I cry in the dark that I’m afraid to let him see my weaknesses. I’m embarrassed to show I’m afraid. Does he know? I quiver. Please don’t let him see me like this. Please don’t let him know I am made of anything but steel.

About beauty: how does one judge true beauty? Isn’t one’s opinion of “appealing” a subjective thing? Then can one really find “true beauty”? Is there such a thing? What are its components? Does one take into consideration the colors, tones, and shades? What about subject matter? What about medium? Can the grandeur of an alpine view be beautiful, but not a pile of bugs in the mud? What if they are pretty bugs? Am I a pretty bug?

If I want to do something great, but don’t know where to begin, is there someone who can tell me? Could they maybe observe me for a while, and then say, okay, you need to knuckle down and take underwater basket-weaving lessons, because that will make you successful and happy?

Wouldn’t it be nice to be a bird. You could fly, sing, and live off eating trash. Plus people would randomly throw food at you to watch you eat it. Yeah, I could probably handle being a bird.

Hello! HELLO!! Is there anyone THERE?!? HelLO!

Do I scream of nothing? For nothing? By nothing? Do I lie alone?