The time on my phone reads 12:04 am but I can’t help thinking that it’s wrong. It has to be later than that. I’ve been tossing and turning for what seems like 8 hours. I can’t sleep. Eyes shut. Eyes open. An itch on my forehead. Was that a noise inside my closet? No. Just my imagination. Eyes shut. Eyes open. Eyes shut. Eyes open. So I’ll try my best to do what used to come so easily to me; write.
A few months ago, if someone asked me to write, I’d be able to spit out 20 or 30 pages of well written, delicately intricate words woven together to create something beautiful. Now it seems like I can barely get out a sentence. The words are there in my brain floating in frozen clouds above the space where I’m supposed to be able to release them with the snap of a finger. They just float further and further away. The weight of the world pulls them away from me and I’m stuck here, feeling like a 1st grader with my pathetic attempt at meaningful writings. I have constant paper balls everywhere of scraps of things I wanted to write. Nothing comes to me anymore.
The time is now 12:11 am and still nothing has come to me. I’ve tried a poem. A story. A venting of my feelings about how someone can wake up one morning and decide they don’t want you anymore, about how I think it’s stupid that we have to wear collared shirts to school, or even how the pizza in the cafeteria is just a trangular piece of cardboard with red sauce on it. But none of these things matter. They don’t amount to any of the huge ideas in my brain that I can’t get out. Writing used to help me get my over thought thinking out onto paper so I could easily fall asleep.
Another thing, I haven’t been able to sleep in 4 days. I sit and stare into an abyss of dark ceiling but never can I sleep. When I do sleep, however, it doesn’t last very long. Which I’ve sort of concluded as the reason to my lack of creative juices up in the writing department of my brain. It may also play a factor in my need for sleep. (Duh)
I don’t know what to write and it’s killing me. I used to be able to. And everything I wrote was good. It mattered. It’s been almost 2 months since I wrote something. How sad is that?? It’s 12:24. Geez, how am I going to get through classes tomorrow? “Sorry, Mr/Mrs. I was up all night tossing and turning in my bed because my mental instability is surely doomed for it is spiraling slowly out of control with every second that passes by.” Yeah, I’m not one for reading minds but I’m pretty sure that one won’t slide.. I guess if you’re reading this nonsense piece of rambling you could give me ideas of something to write about.
Maybe something will come to me soon.
Or perhaps maybe nothing will ever come again.