I should be sleeping, but I'm weighted by thinking.

3 a.m.




I can’t sleep. This manic bullshit is for the birds. One week of being down, one week of being wide awake and energetic. I started drinking a beer or two before bed to relax a bit. That’s not really working. I need to find something to get the balance right. I’d almost rather be depressed; at least then I can sleep.

When I do sleep, I have weird vivid dreams. Most of them my father is in, just a picture of him in the background or standing silently in a corner. I never dreamt about him when he was alive, why now?

Being up all night has given me time to think. Last night I realized that I am destroying any chance of happiness I might have. Last year I started a blog telling my story. People liked it. I sold a couple entries in it to on-line magazines no one ever heard of, or will ever read. There was talk of a book. Some people showed interest. What do I do? I freak out and stop writing about my past. The blog morphs into a poorly written 16 year old goth girl drunken self pity journal. I finally got fed up with my own whining and deleted the whole thing. A few girls have shown interest in me, I stopped talking to them.

I’m still losing weight. I’m down to 146 from 220. I eat the same amount and exorcise the same. I should see a Dr, but honestly, I don’t think I care.

Sometimes I don’t think I’m going to make it. Sometimes I don’t think about it anymore. I just try to have fun with what I have, and live day to day.