A Sleepless Mind.

It's 2:15a.m. and, as usual, I'm sitting here awake. Listening to music, writing, thinking....Always thinking. Tomorrow...well, today I guess...our marching band will be traveling to Florida to perform in the night lights parade at Disney. Left on my to-do list are numerous tasks: I need to pack by 4 a.m., finish two APUSH assignments, read chapter 15 in the APUSH textbook, read the final portion of a chapter in my AP Psychology textbook, email Jack the analysis questions for pre-calculus, study for the H. Chem test tomorrow. Sleep is not included. At this point sleep is not an option. Much like earlier today lunch was not an option, nor breakfast. There simply are not enough hours in a single day.
           I've never been one to actually look tired, but I'm beginning to look exhausted. Everything is finally wearing on me physically. Normally it just manifests as weakness in certain muscles, multiple headaches, or shortness of breath. Lately though other things are being thrown into the mix: difficultly focusing, lack of motivation, a decrease in grades, lack of appetite, and even difficulty sleeping (which sounds strange, I know). I've always felt drained, but I've never looked this tired. I'd be alarmed if it wasn't expected.
          This is going to be extremely random, but I'm going to add some lyrics to two songs I've come to love of late. For the sole purpose of expressing what I can't put into words.

"And so the sky becomes a dream
I never dreamt because I'm just too busy
Waiting for nothing and wasting away
And so the sky it watched my dreams
Fall to pieces right in front of me
Cause I'm just too busy
Waiting for nothing and wasting away

And I'd never wish for anything more
Than to find what I've been looking for
And I swore to myself I wouldn't lie to myself
How could I let this happen?"

"Whatever happened to our inner glow
Whatever happened to the song the soul the me i used to know
Whatever happened to my radio
Whatever happened to my song
It is my song"

Jagged thoughts, Falling sentiments.

Covered in zippered patterns. I'm covered in criss-crossing, self-made seams. At a time I believed I could find the reason, discover the origin, of the searing pain seeping through my veins. It was at this task that I failed and the result is hundreds of white lines. You would think that I learned my lesson from those numerous trials before, but I haven't. On top of the seams are angry red lines screaming accusations, erasing who I am as a person and transforming me into an apathetic shell.
             Now, before my mind runs away with the ugly truth that has left an impression on my heart, my body attempts to fight. But, like every vain attempt before, it fails.......

It's sad really. I cannot even write anymore. My thoughts are short, jagged, cut-off, and forlorn. No coherent emotion braves the winter in my mind long enough for the pencil in my hand to capture them. All form of salvation blurs into the mud with trailing tears and passing raindrops. Even now I'm running out of words to say. My sentences are less enlightening, less creative, less expressive. The intelligence that I used to enjoy has seemingly faded. I'm not even average at this point, just....existing. Tell me one thing, please just explain to me this one tragedy- how can a writer, void of all words and wandering without any passion, continue to live? How is a fate so dulled from it's prior standing bearable? This is no way to live. It isn't bearable to me.

I recognize my meandering thoughts and random beginnings, but I myself am wandering with them. Therefore I cannot begin to correct them, cannot elaborate on their underlying meaning.

Every time I gather the energy and conviction to write, I am crushed by negative sentiments. "It's pointless. It's not good enough. Why would anyone care? You're just a whiny little bitch. You could never be a writer. You'll never be anything." My pieces are only second-rate, my paragraphs elementary. The syntax and diction required of a great author cannot be found within my soul. The darkness infiltrated, filled up every remaining space, and, to my great horror, has now pushed out some of the inspiration and artistry that used to reside in that vessel. I cannot stand this loss, and it is a loss. The only things I ever truly valued in myself were intelligence and creativity....both of which have progressively slipped from my tightening fingers. Dreams that have frozen over and fallen, shattering on the rock beneath my feet- the stone of the edge of the cliff. It was in this place that I always found solace, comfort, inspiration, beauty, meaning. In it's present state, this little parcel of cold stone is just an empty shrine to what used to exist.

My deepest sympathy for the dreams I have allowed to die.