Perchance

Hello loves.

I've had some crazy fucking insomnia lately. And before you start, well-meaning internet, yes I've tried all of the things. Whatever things you want to suggest, I've tried them. Melatonin puts me to sleep, but messes with my hormones. Also, when I take melatonin I don't wake up normally; I wake up gasping for air. Which is pretty fucking scary.  Also I wake up on my back with my arms crossed over my chest like a god damn vampire.

Have I ever told you guys my theory on dreams?  I think we as humans exist on the precipice of two dimensions, one we're in when awake, and one we're in when asleep.  Both worlds equally real.  That world just has different laws of physics than this one.  People can die and come back, flowers can bloom into tiny dragons, I can fly.  It took me years to learn to fly over there.  First it was just one foot up.  Then all you have to do is pick up the other one.  Then you can soar.

I can't sleep because the winds are changing.  Not like, literally, but in the Mary Poppins sense.  My life is moving in weird ways that I can't predict.  And that's always terrifying.  Losing control over things is the worst feeling for me, and things are CHANGING.  I need to get back into school now that my health is in a good swing.  I need to have structure.

I wrote today's piece a few weeks ago, and like a real dumbass, I forgot why I started this blog, and posted it on my social media.  It's about ...like when you've been mulling over a problem for years and it finally breaks free, and then a million little things break free and suddenly you can see light again.  And it's gonna be REAL easy for you assholes to think I'm just subtweeting a boy on this one.  I don't blame you, most of these have been about boys.  But this one's on me, trying to climb out of my hermit hole and see the sun again. Remembering how to smile and feel joy.  Remembering I'm alive.

It's also untitled, because I'm fucking tired and I can't think of one.  Eat me.

I feel the electric pins and needles of a limb waking up inside my chest
Like hibernation
No, sleep is not the right word
There isn’t a right word.
There definitely isn’t a right word for the part of me that is firing again.
Not my heart, or my emotions, or my sex drive, or my soul.
The part of me that is alive.
There definitely isn't a right word for the light behind my eyes, the spring in my step, the pain that's been so cleverly concealed
For so long
There isn't a right word for what I've done to that part of me.
Kidnapped and blindfolded.
Held hostage in a dark basement full of leaves.
Self sabotaged the very self.
Why am I punishing myself?
What did I do that was so abhorrent that I needed ten years of solitude?
Ten years of cold
Ten years of lashes on my back paying penance for a crime I can’t recall.
There isn’t a word for the damage I’ve done, for the time I’ve wasted, for the walls I’ve made out of reinforced steel.
There isn’t a word for this reawakening, because I haven’t been asleep.
I’ve been trapped.
There isn’t a word for how I feel now.  Anxious, lonely, heart percussing on my ribcage.
Ready?

No, that somehow isn’t right.