Tired.

Part of the biggest annoyances of having anxiety and depression is the insomnia. Unable to sleep because my mind doesn’t rest. It doesn’t sleep, it needs to be shut down by medication, if not, it hovers. It replays incidents from decades ago and haunts me with memories about possibilities.

On good days, it penetrates my mind with millions of ideas, gimmicks and inspirational whirlwinds. A writers dream but an insomniacs nightmare. I stare at the ceiling hoping and wishing the medication would hurry it’s job so I can get some sleep. I have things to do tomorrow, that’s a lie, but I do have a family to take care of.

I get asked why I sleep a lot during the day. Like I purposely ask to be tired. I like sleeping during the day, something about the sunlight brings warmth into my dreams. I find at night the deafening silence of the whole house asleep is rather uneasy. The ticking of the clock, the breathing – I prefer sleeping and hearing the sound of laughter, birds, the wind; anything to distract the voices in my head. You can sometimes hear the sun. It’s beautiful.

That’s why I’m exhausted by the morning I can hardly keep my eyes open. I snuggle into the covers whenever I’m alone but am soon woken by the piercing eyes of judgement. No one understands the struggle I fight each and everyday I have with myself. I envy those who sleep peacefully, undisturbed by the mind’s trickery and false promises.

I wish I could eliminate the struggle for sleep. If only one day, I could find inner peace.

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