Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Night-time rituals.

The evening can be a difficult time. I perform my night-time rituals and make my way to the comfort of my bed. 

Some nights my thoughts are incessant. Cycles of habitual reprimands and unflinchingly detailed memories of the times my foot found my mouth.

Other nights are oddly worse in their placidity. I get lost in daydreams of myself as an other. Me without pain or fear. Me different. Better. Placated by absolute removal from myself.

On nights like tonight my sadness is gentle. It is quietly present.  Sometimes being grateful for the warmth of my bed is enough. The softness of the fibres that wrap me or the layered weight on top of me can maybe heat the parts of me that are cold.

Tonight I feel a despondency. Night-time also brings with it exhaustion. An exhaustion not unlike that I feel in the daytime. Am exhaustion I carry around. An exhaustion that points to just laying down and negating this world through sleep.

My body needs sleep. But so does every part of me that survives depression. My mind needs sleep.

Often I feel oddly attached to people, abstractly linked to me through feeling the same pain. As if we're linked by this void in our chests. Bonded by a unique, dull pain housed in our bodies. This traitor in our midsts. 

I lay still and feel a black-hole in my chest, quietly existing. Churning.

That is my lullaby.

I try and focus on things I'm grateful for. A warm bed. I am grateful for this warm bed. I find comfort here, tonight.

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