I am not able to sleep again. I thought it was a one-time thing. The first two weeks of January put me through the same ordeal but eventually I got past it and I thought I’d resolved things enough to function normally again. I’d wonder what the hell it is that I’m getting all worked up about, but wondering contributes to the nagging anxiety. I despise this sense of not having any control whatsoever over something that you should be on top of, in the first place. It is just frustrating how you can want something so bad that you feel the desire deep within your skin, clawing its way out, but for the life of you are not just able to grant it what it wants.
I want to sleep. I just couldn’t. The utter simplicity of this is something that irks me so much. But I guess staying up to write about it isn’t exactly the best way to annihilate insomnia, right?
It has been a week today. I have been feeling unstable and weirdly out of sorts most of the time — the rest, I am just blissfully unaware, daydreaming. What I hate most about this is knowing full well that recovery is always, always just around the corner, but hand-in-hand with that is the fact that these crashes may just be permanent fixtures in your life from now on. You have this sinking feeling that they will always come back, a vicious cycle, really.
I am just exhausted and all I need right now is to find a way to take it easy and just relinquish control over the things that I never would be able to put under my command. I’m tired and spent and I feel extinguished.
I’d say good night right now but I know I’d just stare at my ceiling for hours until daybreak. On top of that, I am supposed to be defending a paper tomorrow morning — a paper I have outlined, if only in my head, but haven’t even started writing. I just want to get past this complete lack of interest in things because I’m running out of time to do things right. These days I have been realizing that messing things up and feigning nonchalance while claiming in the same breath that the mishaps were worth it because they make good life lessons anyway — lessons you wouldn’t be able to drill into your head otherwise — is only acceptable to a certain point. As you grow older, the winning streak of irresponsibility you have managed to get away with a few years (or in my case, months) ago just does not make the cut anymore. You abhor doing the whole bare-minimum thing, and now more than ever it feels like you’re betraying yourself whenever you fall short of your standards.
Willpower is not even the problem here, I love what I’m doing and I know what I’m doing it for. It’s just that because of this insomnia thing, I haven’t been able to sustain concentration. I have to start taking better care of myself — make better choices, all that jazz. And just because I love being all dramatic, the moment everything clears up, if only for a little while, I’d do myself the huge favor of going away to think and having a nice one-on-one chat with this ever-so-reeking-of-angst version of myself. Just to make amends.
I try to be good, but my mind’s a dangerous neighborhood”