In the mind of children and fools

I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I was overwhelmingly tired so I laid down early. But I couldn’t fall. I finally sat up at 2am deciding to stop fighting my insomnia. Somehow the tables had turned. I found myself sitting right back in the feelings I’d worked so hard to escape: helpless and unwanted.

Even writing this is from the cranky haze of unrest only makes my mood more palpable. Just wanting and needing to escape it and bargaining with God, “please anything but this. Let me rest. Let me numb. Let me forget. I don’t want to be here.” But maybe that’s the point.

All I know right now is that I am running out of places to run. I can’t even escape to slumber, and so here we are. Truly, tangibly, irrevocably (at least temporarily) sad.

Sad that I can’t seem to find someone who is genuinely excited to be with me. Sad that for every step I take forward in regards to faith and finances, I take eight steps back. Sad that I finally feel so utterly at peace with myself and yet there are pieces which still plague me. Sad that my writing isn’t where I know it could be. Sad that I’ve lost every single picture in my mind and now all I’m staring at is a big empty canvas and all I have is a pencil with no eraser. Sad that I hold the incongruence of knowing it’s a beautiful life and yet having it feel like shit.

And maybe I’m just tired. Maybe none of this is even real and I’m dreaming without even knowing it. Maybe my partner is right around the corner. Maybe I’ll meet him today and this post will seem silly in hindsight. Maybe I’ll get forward to someone who will forward to someone who will want to edit my pieces into a book. Maybe I’ll touch someone today. Maybe I won’t be the only one who reads this. Maybe someone will actually have the balls to comment. Or maybe those things only happen in the minds of children and fools.

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