Drafts of the Insomniac

Today, I mentioned something to a coworker that she had told me a few weeks ago. She responded by saying “Wow, you have such a good memory”. I don’t think I have a good memory. I think I know what it’s like to talk and not have anyone listen. To wish to just be heard. To be made to feel important to someone, down to the small details. To feel like people care to know things. To hope for a friendship built on trust and respect. To love freely and fully. To be comfortable hugging someone when you have a hard day. I think I know what it’s like to feel completely and absolutely alone and isolated. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I just care that people don’t feel the way I did. The way I still sometimes do.

To all those who may or may not be reading this, Welcome. Welcome to my blog. My journal. My diary. Welcome to the zone where I can record all of the different random thoughts that go through my mind every single day. As you read through any posts I have, you’ll notice I seem severely depressed in most of them. This is because I was severely depressed when I wrote them and I probably still am. To those of you who know me personally, you’ll know I’m not a talker. I don’t like sharing my feelings and I tend to suppress them as much as possible. If you’re part of this category, welcome to a new side of me. One I try to keep hidden from friends, family, and everyone else I know. Every time I write on this blog, I feel the tears falling from my heart, turning black and becoming the words on each page. I see the thoughts of sadness and hatred bleed with the same intensity on every line. I’m cutting literal figurative pieces out of myself and transcribing then as best as I can to show...

I knew the storm was coming, but I could never have anticipated the floods that it would bring. With each drop of rain, the frown upon my face would grow. The thunder and lightning struck fear into the heart every time it struck and the depressive winds from the east would tear at my house. I always thought I was safe, but don’t we all. My storm stuck on May 4th, 2013 and lead to the following. It came in a wave of scarred wrists, shed tears, and too many sleeping pills. I was sent to a “behavioral hospital” on May 5th, 2013, the day of one of my best friends birthdays. My phone was taken, I was able to have one phone call during the day, there was no door leading into my room, and although it felt like prison, I felt safe. Every day, we would be awakened by one of the counselors. They would knock on the door frame where the door should’ve hung and tell us to get up. They would give us any and all pills that had to be taken in the morning. It would be followed by breakfast. All ...

This isn’t a call for rescue I don’t need someone to come save me And although my life may feel askew I just want for others to see Everyday I wake and feel the pain And I just can’t seem to be free Of my past which chases me in vain Of someone I used to be It pulls me down and pushes back This heavy weight called depression I’m not prepared for another attack Upon my mind it’s left it’s impression I do what I can to help any friend Overcome the pain which I can’t bear For other people my back will bend To help others escape the snare Friends talk to me to relieve their mind Of trials throughout the day For I n their own problems they want to find A refuge and keep sadness at bay See others go through issues And in their life I am so small But through any tears and tissues I wish to hold them tall See I try to help any in life So when I go through sadness I won’t be alone in all my strife Because solitude brings a certain madness I use my phone to che...

When I was ten years old, I wanted to grow up to be a soldier in the army. I always looked up to these American heroes and think that was the greatest thing someone could ever achieve. Being able to travel the world in the defense of the greatest country to exist. This dream came from mostly Call of Duty's and Medal of Honor's, but I wanted to be like those fictional war heroes I played as. The way that they would fearlessly rush into a war zone and be able to take out their enemies with ease. I wanted that courage, that determination to win. But that was just the dream of a kid who didn't know anything about bravery When I was fifteen years old, I wanted to grow up to run a marathon. I could already run a lap on the track quicker than everyone else who was doing track and field. I wanted to race in the Boston marathon and be in front as I crossed the finish line. I wanted to be congratulated with a gold medal and be sent to the Olympics. I would think of everyone in th...