in a timeless, placeless place

[j4]

There are two phrases that keep coming into my mind: I'm just so tired and I want to go home. I don't even know what they mean any more, really. "Tired" is what happens between waking up and going to sleep. "Home" is something that happens to other people.

I can't go on like this. But I don't know how to stop.

I don't think I can even go on for another week like this. So I just go on for another day. And another. And another. And so on, until they days become... nothing. I haven't experienced a month for over 5 months. Just a string of days, and the occasional week.

I feel so hollow inside from crying and from not sleeping. I don't want to sleep now. Maybe I'll never sleep again. I don't want to draw lines between the days, you see. Then I won't have to live another day, I can just go on living this one, and telling myself that I'll give up tomorrow.

I can't see any future. I can't even see tomorrow morning. It'll happen whether I like it or not, but I can't envisage it, I can't plan for it. It'll just shake me rudely awake when the time comes, and there'll be nothing I can do about it, and I'll get up and get dressed and go out as if I'm still dreaming. Maybe I am.

Comments

[huskyteer.livejournal.com]

> Why is it somehow Good and Right and Proper to struggle on even if you're not enjoying it?

Well, in my case, because the alternative is completely bloody terrifying. I'm very much a rage-rage-against-the-dying-of-the-light type. 'Cause once the bulb blows the light is out for a damn long time.

And because things do eventually change. Really. Nobody can exist in the same mental state forever, with the possible exception of the Queen.