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Insomnia
13 years ago
I find myself thinking of this particular quote from Paul Gauguin.
"I close my eyes in order to see."
While he was speaking about painting what you know about what you see and not painting literally what you see, I find it applies to me in many ways.
When I look upon this world, it is difficult to have hope for anything. Every belief, thought, hope seems utterly pointless when compared to this people whom I find myself struggling to keep from loathing up, down and quite nearly entirely. It is then that I close my eyes, so that I might see better vistas.
These days, I find that where I go is none too good for me either. I dream of opium. I can imagine it's flavor mixed with the tobacco I have loved for what feels akin to a lifetime. Ever since I was a child, I was mesmerized by the mere thought that something could take the pain and insomnia away. I would imagine my fears shrinking and withering at last, my agony receding slowly, until finally I was no longer aware of it.
I have oft dreamed of such and developed a deep fascination with certain drugs. Lets face it, anyone would be enthralled by that which promises relief that is normally impossible to obtain through normal means. The funny thing is, throughout my life, I have had myriad opportunities to imbibe and partake of much, and all but the barest few substances have I ever partaken.
Suffice it to say that I have not tasted of any that I ever dreamed of. Maybe I am a glutton for punishment. And once again, bereft of relief, I find myself deprived of sleep. No vista I can conjure forth behind my eyelids brings with it any comfort.
It is in times like this, my anger returns in full force. When I hurt the most, it becomes painful to observe all that many can take for granted. Every single moment of calm for example, a single moment where the mind is quiet, nothing on the mind. Maybe you are stirring your coffee, or just sitting and doing nothing. There are moments I would gladly kill for such. Or at least, that is the initial thought, I know better of myself. Eventually I become grateful that such things exist at all, regardless of it's absence in my mind.
Sleep would be good. I imagine it would feel nice to not be conscious for a time. It would be even better to awaken feeling better for once.
I feel lost, with no map nor guide to aid me. I wonder these days whether the world could actually end soon. I find myself struggling not to hope it does indeed come. I don't believe in doom's day prophecies spun from emptiness and bullshit, but it is appealing to imagine the blight of humanity snuffed out in but an instant. But that is my own pettiness. I merely think of my own relief in no longer having to endure this unceasing trial by fire. The world nor humanity deserves neither fire nor brimstone due to a disenfranchised, disenchanted, half crazed man writhing on the tide of his own mentality.
Half crazed and eternally tired, yet still standing. I think therefore I am. I hurt therefore I understand. I cannot escape thus I dream of freedom, but alas mine shall never come in this life. I cannot escape, so instead I walk the long way, through the flames, for a lifetime. Something sure wanted me to survive all that I have, so the least I can do is be appreciative of such and not throw life so precious away.
I am nothing save for what this world has attempted to make me, subtracted from what I chose to be. Erosion takes it's toll as always, on the heart and mind, but while it aches and stings fiercely, perhaps it has made these things within me more intricate. Perhaps it merely makes me more hungry to taste the waters of calm that I have heard spoken of by many, yet it can only be found by those who are born with at least a drop within them.
Perhaps if I close my eyes...I might see even a glimpse of it.
"I close my eyes in order to see."
While he was speaking about painting what you know about what you see and not painting literally what you see, I find it applies to me in many ways.
When I look upon this world, it is difficult to have hope for anything. Every belief, thought, hope seems utterly pointless when compared to this people whom I find myself struggling to keep from loathing up, down and quite nearly entirely. It is then that I close my eyes, so that I might see better vistas.
These days, I find that where I go is none too good for me either. I dream of opium. I can imagine it's flavor mixed with the tobacco I have loved for what feels akin to a lifetime. Ever since I was a child, I was mesmerized by the mere thought that something could take the pain and insomnia away. I would imagine my fears shrinking and withering at last, my agony receding slowly, until finally I was no longer aware of it.
I have oft dreamed of such and developed a deep fascination with certain drugs. Lets face it, anyone would be enthralled by that which promises relief that is normally impossible to obtain through normal means. The funny thing is, throughout my life, I have had myriad opportunities to imbibe and partake of much, and all but the barest few substances have I ever partaken.
Suffice it to say that I have not tasted of any that I ever dreamed of. Maybe I am a glutton for punishment. And once again, bereft of relief, I find myself deprived of sleep. No vista I can conjure forth behind my eyelids brings with it any comfort.
It is in times like this, my anger returns in full force. When I hurt the most, it becomes painful to observe all that many can take for granted. Every single moment of calm for example, a single moment where the mind is quiet, nothing on the mind. Maybe you are stirring your coffee, or just sitting and doing nothing. There are moments I would gladly kill for such. Or at least, that is the initial thought, I know better of myself. Eventually I become grateful that such things exist at all, regardless of it's absence in my mind.
Sleep would be good. I imagine it would feel nice to not be conscious for a time. It would be even better to awaken feeling better for once.
I feel lost, with no map nor guide to aid me. I wonder these days whether the world could actually end soon. I find myself struggling not to hope it does indeed come. I don't believe in doom's day prophecies spun from emptiness and bullshit, but it is appealing to imagine the blight of humanity snuffed out in but an instant. But that is my own pettiness. I merely think of my own relief in no longer having to endure this unceasing trial by fire. The world nor humanity deserves neither fire nor brimstone due to a disenfranchised, disenchanted, half crazed man writhing on the tide of his own mentality.
Half crazed and eternally tired, yet still standing. I think therefore I am. I hurt therefore I understand. I cannot escape thus I dream of freedom, but alas mine shall never come in this life. I cannot escape, so instead I walk the long way, through the flames, for a lifetime. Something sure wanted me to survive all that I have, so the least I can do is be appreciative of such and not throw life so precious away.
I am nothing save for what this world has attempted to make me, subtracted from what I chose to be. Erosion takes it's toll as always, on the heart and mind, but while it aches and stings fiercely, perhaps it has made these things within me more intricate. Perhaps it merely makes me more hungry to taste the waters of calm that I have heard spoken of by many, yet it can only be found by those who are born with at least a drop within them.
Perhaps if I close my eyes...I might see even a glimpse of it.
I'm glad you don't throw away what you've been given. You hate the spoiled and worthless that populate this world so much that it would be a shame at least and an impossibility at best for you to join them.
As always, I shall do whatever I can to ease your pain and restlessness, and strive to create more things that bring you comfort.