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5:17 am
I don't know why I keep doing this to myself. I always get like this whenever I drink coffee. Sleepless nights are nothing new to me. It must be something about this room, I don't remember the last time I went to bed before four in this place. It must be something about the lighting, it always seems so sullen. No wonder kenneth wanted to shoot his film in here. I'm refraining from saying anything bad about this apartment, it was a gift that I'd even gotten the place. Jammel and I were scrambling to find something, even considering places thrity minutes on grounds before stubling upon this gem right on the corner. Yet, I must say this place has definitely affected my mood.
But tonight is different. Usually my sleepless nights have a more muted feeling, a deep sense of sadness like a heavy blanket draped on my back. These emotions I can deal with, as they actually help me fall asleep. My most restful sleeps are usually the ones where I go unconscious with tears still in my eyes. There's something comforting about it, like holding a keepsake close to your chest from a lost loved one that you're mourning.
Unfortunately, my caffeine consumption has turned tonight's bout into a sharper affair. My heart is beating fast, my arms have a slight vibration to them like metal poles being struck. And the birds, my god the birds. Every night around 3 am a flock of birds start chirping just outside my window. Maybe this area used to be a forest. All the houses and paved roads buried that history, but the birds sure haven't forgotten. The worst part about a caffeine-induced unrest are the thoughts. Unlike the sluggish, melancholy thoughts of a usual late night, these thoughts rush in like a flood. I keep thinking about my mistakes, past, present, future ones too.
I tell myself everyday that I'm trying my best, but it's been getting less and less convincing. I keep feeling like I could be doing more. Not feeling, knowing I could be doing more. I end up feeling guilty. It seems like all I feel nowadays is guilt. And dread. I have a constant nagging feeling like I need to help people, people that I barely know, people that I barely talk to, people that barely know me. Even when I know it's not my place, there must be something I could do? Or should even be doing anything at all? Elgin comes to mind. It spoke volumes when he was there at the runway show. I watched him from above and noticed the chair next to him with a reserved sign that was empty all night. The whole evening, he was checking his texts. Whenever he talks, I always feel that there's a part of him that's longing, searching for something. For god's sake, he's fifty year old man with a phd, he doesn't need my help. It's taken me a while to admit that I have a savior complex, and I've been trying to address this issue lately.
I still remember anecdotes from a talk I had with him the other day. He moved around a lot as a kid, military families will do that to you. He said that the place that impacted him the most was Atlanta. At the time, colored kids were being kidnapped left and right. This forced him to stay inside. All this time indoors was when he learned to design models, work with his hands. It made me reflect on my covid days. God, was such a wreck. I couldn't tell you a single productive thing I did during that year and a half. It was a genuine nightmare for me. I don't remember much of it, or maybe I don't want to.
I have deep sympathy for loners. Even when I'm not alone, I still feel lonely. In an ironic way, other people can be the most alienating thing. I try to hug people as much as possible. Although, I have a really sensitive nose and people can smell bad sometimes. But still. Every time I see caroline, I make sure to hug her, the ball of anxiety that she is. I try to respond to people's texts as much as possible, and every time I forget to respond to someone I'm racked with guilt. A friend invited me to a house show the other day. I felt like shit, mentally and physically exhausted (when am I not nowadays), but I still went. It was draining, but I would've felt awful to cancel last minute. Jaden said I worry too much, and maybe that's true. I just don't want people to end up feeling the way I feel. But maybe people don't get as caught up as I do about these kinds of things.
Memory has been a weird thing for me lately. I keep getting vivid flashbacks to moments in my childhood, even the smells and textures of a room that I'm in, ideas and thoughts that I had at that moment. However, it'd be difficult to even tell you what I did yesterday. I've never been good at short term memory, anyone whose been around me can vouch for that, but my long term memory surprises me sometimes. It's like it haunts me. The only thing I can't remember is first grade, I couldn't even tell you the teacher I had. I'm not sure why.
My arms are still shaking. My head aches like it's begging for rest, but my body still hums. Whenever I pause to think, I have to keep myself from spiraling into a cycle of negative thoughts. These cyclical thoughts are the most dangerous, as it can be hard to break out of. But these aren't thoughts I should fully ignore either. I find it hard to strike a balance between ripping myself to pieces and completely blocking out my mistakes from my mind.
The clock strikes six. The birds are still chirping.
I don't remember the last time I've written something. I used to love writing as a kid. My mom would always make me write a page before I got to go out and play. She said I could write about anything, but she always had a problem with whatever subject I chose to write about. Nowadays, most of my writing... let's just say I don't spend much time on it. I keep thinking about this one thing I want to write, though. It's a photojournalist stuck in a small mining town. She has a drinking problem, insomnia, and chronic back pain (sounds like me in a few years). Because of the town's poor infrastructure, house fires are a common occurrence. As she photographs these fires, she keeps seeing this little girl that's always at the scene of the fires. Each time, the little girl is sat the same way, right in front of the flames, with tears in her eyes. The photographer decides to interview the girl, asking why she's always at these fires. The girl says she always tells herself she's gonna build up the courage to run in and save the people inside, but the flames are always just too hot.
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arms stretch a tee like i nailed it
raft moving slow like a creek
shirt in the breeze like im sailing
and i toss in my sheets i cant help it
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