most mornings my stomach is in knots before i realize i’m awake.

my brain quickly reloads all the things i was upset about the day before, prior to the pills kicking in and my mind being cleared for sleep. i can feel it rushing back.

all the fear. all the anger. all the loneliness and heartache and melancholy. i never get a chance for a fresh start with the dawn.

my brain shouts: “remember this? remember how upset you were about this yesterday? let’s revisit that, shall we?” & my mind is too weak and tired to protest. it sags under the weight.

i differentiate between my brain & my mind. i have little control over the nature of my brain, how my brain is wired–for depression and anxiety and doom and gloom. my mind is me, my mind is what tries to fight against nature. my mind is the nurture, & it is very malnourished.

most of the time i feel like i’m pushing a boulder up a very steep hill. when i stop to rest, i’m almost crushed. when i have times during the day that are not filled with distraction, my brain fills the void with reminders of what’s wrong. it is exhausting. i could have slept for 10 hours the night before, but i still feel as if i only slept 2. or less.

yet i can’t nap during the day, because that is quiet time, and it requires my brain to attempt to shut off without the benefit of the pills. i half-sleep; the static of anxiety is still in the background & i’m partially conscious of it although for all intents and purposes, i’m not actually conscious at all.

i yearn for restorative sleep, for a morning when i wake up ready to seize the day & make it bend to my will. a morning when i feel confident i can create my own reality and it will be okay.

one morning, i want to not immediately regret that i woke up.


(written march 13 2012)