For about one night every two weeks or so, I just can’t get to sleep unless I write something down. Usually, it makes little sense and sometimes it makes a lot of sense. Sometimes, I’ll edit it or transform it into something else, when I am conscious and sober from sleep. Here, I’m not sure what this is. I wrote it last week and I cannot get myself to edit it for whatever reason. So, for now, here it is, a rant in its raw and unfiltered form. Enjoy.

Sometimes I can’t go to sleep unless I write everything out. This is one of those nights. Do you ever feel restless and incomplete, but you don’t know what you want to fill that space? Do you ever just free float out into the vast openness that is life, questioning your decisions and whether you’ll ever have a successful career and life? I am feeling this now.
There is no need to cry or laugh. Doing something crazy won’t fill that empty space either. I’ll have to get up before noon, but stay awake until the dark lets others sleep and me alone for a peaceful silence.
Silence is the only reason I stay up late. Calm, balanced, I can feel my heart drum and hear my breath balance the beams over shaky ocean storms. Most are asleep, unconscious, leaving the blackness for my own greedy use. I could do anything, create anything – a blank slate. No one’s here to judge me, or tell me I suck. Sometimes, I want to stay here forever,
but how terrifying would that be?
Imagine, a world of dead space with no one to talk to and no one to hold. No one’s here to define me but myself and my own morbid imagination. I wonder why I love this feeling and this space so much that I want to stay here forever.
Sometimes, I’ll stay up until the sky turns light. The birds sing and dance among the light blue skies, drifting among white clouds and an orange and pink sun. Sometimes I’ll make tea and stay up for that, too. Sometimes, even the sounds of birds pierce my ears as I dread the oncoming day.
The worst are the sounds of cars. Why am I not driving one? Cars mean energy, destination, adventure, a purpose. Standing still is so boring. Sitting is so boring. I’d rather lay and stare up at the twinkling stars in my midnight wonderland or lay with a sleeping person. I’d lay on a bridge, in a field, across a road for kicks. I’ll lay upside down, hanging from a worn-down olive green couch with weird stains from hot foods heated in a microwave as I look up at an blaring tv with its blaring colors and blaring fake people as strange zombie acquaintances heat up their ramen in the microwave. The world is so much more interesting from below, or above – from a tree, a cliff. Rocks crumbling below my feet and dust floating down towards the deep pool below. I’d rather wait a few minutes before I jump to scare myself about possibilities. A few minutes of thinking
about possibilities
could scare anyone.
But I’d rather jump, transform into a human pencil, and plunge into cold dark waters which are just as silent and comforting as the darkness of late nights. I don’t understand why some are afraid of silence when it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Stargazing, libraries, the moments before falling asleep, and swimming underwater – all silent and yet, they force a person to face themselves.

I used to have dreams that I was drowning because I couldn’t reach the light at the top, something was pulling me back. I would kick and flail, scissor my legs as fast as I could, and try to scream, but eventually, I would forget that I was drowning. I would focus on something else – bubbles or the feeling of my feet in the sand and eventually, take a breath. I could always breathe underwater.
Sometimes, when I swim, I consider taking a breath of fresh water. What would happen? Would I just die or would I grow gills? Drowning is traumatically beautiful in a way. It’s a transformation into a mermaid, becoming one with the sea forever. Maybe the body rots in a different way underwater. Maybe the fish will tickle my flesh until the bone sinks to the bottom and becomes sand.

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