My battle with insomnia is getting worse. I’m averaging maybe ten hours sleep a week, with at least two nights a week of no sleep at all, as last night was. As soon as I begin drifting to sleep, I stop breathing. Yes, it does sound like sleep apnea, doctor is busy running tests because he says I also have some kind of heart issue. Now I get to deal with nightly anxiety caused by not knowing if I’ll sleep, and life is a big bowl of cherries right now.
So – I find a piece of paper on my desk titled “My SP Plan.” Short for Suicide project. It is a detailed list of things to do before checking out. I’d say the odds are against me following through, but it is a lucid itinerary for a final trip, jotted down as the items pop into my mind.
I keep picturing family members who have already passed, waiting for me…Mom, Dad, Uncles, Aunts, my little boy Hooks, all standing there with open arms, and it’s a comforting fantasy. This life…it’s just getting old, you know? I can honestly say there really isn’t anything life has to offer that interests me anymore…essentially, I’m bored. My cremation is paid for, my affairs are sufficiently ordered, I’ve managed to have no debt, save for the current months credit card bill. My method is loaded and waiting…all that I own is within the walls of my apartment. And a pickup truck that’s paid for. Beneficiaries are in place on four random accounts, all the money I have, and it goes to siblings. No will, no trust, no hassles, no exorbitant mess to clean up. I’m a simple, dull person. I don’t need much. It won’t be a lot of work to clean up my “stuff”.
Yet I am afraid, unable to process life without my beating heart in it. I’m exhausted.
Tears are welling up right now, my mind and body are both severely fatigued and depressed. I’m standing next to myself, observing all this, and it’s exhilarating. God I miss my boy. And yet, there’s no guarantee of any reunions with old familiar faces. None whatsoever. The transition from living to expired may be a final flick of a switch resulting in… nothing. No awareness of time and space, no memories, no conscious thought at all. How does one take solace in the peace of death if conscious thought doesn’t accompany the change? Imagine? A lifetime of living, just plain off…disconnected, and then nothing…not even an awareness of a lack of awareness of thought.
That would be something.
God I need sleep, badly.