Finding the right words isn't as easy as it can seem. I think I write mostly because if I didn't I would have no way of communicating with anyone, especially myself.
Right now for instance. I'm feeling something, but I couldn't tell you exactly what it is. I can't even tell myself what it is. All I know is it makes my soul restless.
I feel like I'm on the verge of losing it. Whether it is my mind, my soul's balance in this life, or my calm, or my cool, or my peace. Either way I feel anxious and frustrated and bored.
All I want to do is get in the car and drive, away. Or run. Or scream, except I never scream. I honestly don't recall a single time where something made me scream. All I know is something is building up and building up and about to overflow into a surge of...dark energy. It's dark and heavy and electric. It pulses through every nerve in my body and it wants me to break.
I get this feeling pretty much every night at around 3:00 am. I'm lyinging here, still unable to fall asleep, and it kills me that I can't.
"Do you know how hard it is to fall asleep when you know that's what you're supposed to do." -Alaric, The Vampire Diaries (Yes, I just said Vampire Diaries.)
I wish my body had a way it could scream physically instead of my voice. It wants to find a way, and it feels like whatever that way would be, it...I don't know.
I used to get to hit the stitching off of softballs for hours every day when I was healthy. I used to run and shoot hoops and serve a volleyball and field a grounder and hear the pop of the glove and the crack of the bat. That was how my healthy younger self allowed my body to scream away life's stress. But now? Now I feel like I've got nothing.
Yeah, I bought a guitar to replace sports, but it's not the same. And besides, my carpel tunnel syndrome is so bad I have like six Salan Pas patches on my wrist and then I taped it for the stability and compression. Typing right now is more difficult than you can imagine. So playing the guitar couldn't be more out of the question. But without softball and the guitar, and with no other way to "scream" and release the anxiety, here I am writing. As if typing on a screen is somehow similar to hitting a softball. It's not. Nothing is. But it's all I've got, so I'm clinging to it like my life depends on it, because most days, and especially nights, I honestly believe it does.
And I feel like if I can just find the right words to tap out to describe what I'm feeling then maybe it will go away. Like I can trap it on the Internet instead of letting it fester inside.
It feels like if I can just tell myself and all of you what's wrong, what's right, what is true, and what is false in my life, then it will actually be brought to life. Like I'm writing it into existence. Or out of existence. And I suppose sometimes, and maybe dare I say often, it's true: I do feel like I write things and feelings and experiences into or out of existence. Whatever I need them to be or do. But tonight, like a lot of nights, all of this just feels like words. Words, words, words.
I am now finding myself staring at the screen. At the keyboard. At all these letters that supposedly mean something, especially if arranged "correctly", and I am thinking, "Really?". I really expect tapping on a bunch of symbols a certain way is supposed to make me and other people feel differently, and for long dramatic, life changing periods of time? It's crazy.
And yet...there's no way I can stop.
And I suppose I should just be thankful for a way to communicate. A lot of people can't, don't, or won't. And to me that would be one of the worst forms of torture.
And I suppose even if I feel just barely three ounces less crazy inside having typed out these ramblings, that is a success. And I'd be foolish and spoiled to call it anything less.
And I suppose if I didn't give up on writing, even in the darkest hours when it just feels silly talking to all three of you and myself, then that's a win too.
I just wish communicating was easier. I wish I could express myself like characters in a movie or tv show who have the best writers laboring over how they should perfectly say what they are thinking and feeling. I often envy characters on tv, to tell you the truth. Not because of who they are or where they are or what they are doing, but because of their abilities to express themselves clearly and seemingly without fear.
I know a ton of people wonder why I hate the telephone. And they wonder why I would rather write something instead of just saying it. Here's the thing about us writers: we are scared as hell talking verbally either face to face or on the phone. But we can be quite fearless behind the safety of a screen. I'm telling you, if you want to really know what I'm thinking and feeling and going through, let me write it. Because there's no way I've been constructed by God to be able to say it to your face. Not yet anyway.
Writing helps me conquer, or at least admit and address my biggest fears.
Tonight, I fear what insomnia is doing to me, not just physically, but to absolutely every other aspect of my health.
And I fear if and when it will break me.
And I'm even more scared of what my breakdown will look like.
And I endlessly worry why I can't just get in bed, let my head hit the pillow, and then be sleeping silently and peacefully and restoratively.
I freak out at this hour if it's my fault. If I did something or am doing something to screw the natural order of my life up. And I then wonder if this is just God's plan. And if it is, why does the whole flipping world make me feel so bad for not sleeping when the world tells me I am supposed to. It's not fair.
And then I wonder why I need to know why. Can't I just continue trying my best and leave the rest to God? Why is the worst part of insomnia being awake at 4:00 am over analyzing your insomnia? Maybe this is the Devil's plan, his trick, I think to myself. To get me to freak out about not sleeping during the hours the world tells me to sleep, which only gets me to sleep even less. yeah, I think, it's all his fault.
And then I have to humble myself enough to remember my motto: you can either blame the Devil OR thank God.
And then I feel even more horrible. And then I lose even more sleep--This is crap. Pure crap. Grrrr. I need a snack.
Dear Lord,
Help me, help me, help me trust You and this life you have given me, whatever it may be, whatever it may look like to everybody else, and whatever it feels like. And Lord, if I am worthy, please reveal Your whole Truth to me.
And thank you, thank you, thank you for guiding me over the years to writing and persisting through all my reluctance towards this form of art and expression. You knew I would need this outlet long before I did, especially at 4:30 am. Thank you.
And please calm my soul and the souls of my readers and friends and family tonight, right now, and every night. Or may we at least realize through our attempting pure unrelenting trust in You that there is no reason to feel restless when You are right here with us.
Help me to remember to stop playing the blame game and just be thankful I am Yours and Yours alone and You love me enough to get me through any and everything, even and especially endless amount of sleepless nights.
Besides, nothing focuses my full attention on You more than my insomnia. Pain truly is Your megaphone like C. S. Lewis says. Maybe it's time I stop talking and venting and screaming and I start shutting up, lying still and listening to You. Tell me everything Lord. Here I am.
Amen
By the way, It's 5:00 am. I have to stop. This will realistically get cleaned up more later. But I'm counting on these issues getting out of my head, heart, and soul and lost in the ether world. I certainly hope so and will pretend its true. Now, for that snack.
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