the worst feeling in the world.

Lying in bed, two hours before the alarm is set to go off, eyes closed as they've been closed for hours, fucking praying for the narcotic oblivion of sleep. It's the worst when all you want is the escape, the peaceful sanctuary of sleep. Self-medicate with booze and I can't even fucking sleep through a goddamn night. Sleep is heaven when you don't want to be awake with your awful thoughts. I keep my eyes closed, shift my body to find a more comfortable contortion, vainly try blanking my mind before succumbing to thinking about the blog entry I'll write when I give up the struggle in less than two hours.

When you have your eyes closed for hours on end, you're bound to slip off for patches, at least. This morning, I had a dream that I lived in a house that got robbed. There were all these empty CD jewel cases strewn on the ground. They'd snatched a bunch of old CDs that I had no use for anymore. I remember the feeling of shock at being robbed... followed by the realization that I had nothing of value that meant anything to me anymore. It wasn't a comfort. It felt like a sort of death.

Yesterday was a black day. I'm trying to regroup. Get my head together. Keep my shit together.

It's Thursday. Two more days and I can hide in the weekend.