Tired….

Well, its been a while. A long time since I’ve been viewing the stories here, an even longer time since I bothered to write; truth being I’ve haven’t been able to write (the one think I was once able to do well, now diminished). I guess you find that time of night on that particular day when you feel its about time you came back to just have a look, see how terrible it is that there are some many more people feeling that suicidal depressed way.

I’ve started intense studying. How fantastic (it isn’t). I never knew I tired like this. I’ve always been tired, and I’ve always had trouble sleeping, but this seems something new altogether. Maybe its because I drink too much; I don’t know. I keep having these dreams, some old memories and others just possible futures- I guess they are what people call nightmares. I keep seeing this old demon of mine, and he’s either killing me, or killed me or once seemed like it was about to (considering it, the very least). Every time I sleep, I wake a few hours later being afraid of the dark and everything else that exists. The thing is I hate the sun; the day is too bright and the sky is too blue for my likings now, as I find it. So I’m scared of the dark, I’m scared to fall asleep and dream- but I am so tired. I feel even more drained waking up. But I’ve found that it becomes hard to move, harder to breathe (not that I’m overly keen on it), and all I can think about is the past, and the dreams and what will eventually happen in the future: my either bloody and violent death or my blessed release (hey, keeping it hopeful to a limit, at least). I don’t know what to do anymore. I drink, I stay awake. I struggle to live that day to day basis because my body can’t keep up with my God damn mind, and I’m afraid to go to sleep. And when I do, I can’t think of any other.

I also came to the realisation of something else, which seems to mean so profoundly much- but it probably won’t make any sense. I recently saw a small dog being almost mauled by a larger dog. These two dogs have been living in the same place with the same owners for two years now. Just out of the blue, if it weren’t for the owner, that smaller dog would probably have some really bad injuries- maybe it would have died. The next day, they continue on as if nothing had ever happened. And my realisation: I am the same. I look back and realise that I have done the same thing with the people I know and love. I have these violent spouts which come out of the air; just for no apparent reason. And to think, that once upon a time, I used to be the gentlest thing in the world- actually sweet. And so my father managed to turn me into a dog. The only difference being that I’m not loyal to him any longer. It still doesn’t matter though. I guess I know why they call me ‘*****’ now, huh?

So, once more I come to an end and still think back to the same old question: why am I still doing all of this? Why, if I’m so tired, and I’m so violent, and I haven’t even got control of any factor in my life, why am I still doing this?
… Why do I persist in writing, when it will never be read, and it will never be good enough?