Sleep, the small brother of Death

I thought about not smoking today (she writes as her first joint of the day is smoldering away in the ashtray on her desk). Thought about getting up and going full commando exercise routine this morning, too. Didn’t do that, either. Seems every night between 9 pm and 11 pm my mind takes flight and I make grandiose plans for the next day…I’ll stop smoking. I’ll pick back up on my exercise and do all the sit-ups I should do, then take a long walk. I’ll super clean the house and get to all those dirty edges and hidden dust bunnies I’ve let slide.  My plans are never manageable; never ‘I’ll START this tomorrow’. No. I plan to do everything in one go. Impossible, I know.

Been trying to direct my head to more concrete plans. Trying to see me in the process, struggling, knowing what I need is perseverance, not a rush of energy to sprint to some imagined magic ending where I’m “done” doing this or that. I figure I’d better accept that as long as I’m drawing breath, I’ll have to keep doing this and that, that I’ll never be “done”. That makes me feel tired, and I begin to wonder if it’s the idea that we’re never done that makes so many of us tired and eventually leads to old age and death (and yeah, I know…you gotta suspend the action of a physical, carbon based world to imagine that the thought of never ending work could kill – just go with it). Studies have come out claiming that a person feeling like they still need to do something will live longer than those who feel they have no work to complete. Maybe that’s true if it’s a physical project, like a goal to climb a mountain or something like that. But what if the goal is to clean up your mental landscape? What if it’s to be rid of your nightmares once and for all? Then, I think, that statement could be turned on its head…for there is nothing more soul shattering, bone exhausting, and mind numbing than to realize the struggle with inner demons will NEVER be over. I’M the person who’s going to have to choose over and over again. I’M the person who’s going to have to learn how to calm myself down and take different action. Yeah, maybe there’s a pill or two out there that can help me. I imagine there is, and a part of me even looks forward to taking it/them. That’s not going to help me with my self-esteem or all the bad memories of the stalker, it’s not going to change all the hurtful things my sister has done to me, it’s not going to change all the times my mother ignored me. These are the things I’ll have to come to grips with.

Doing my best to give myself some mental distance… Trying to see outside the box, think outside the walls built by years of neglect and whatever else you want to throw into the mix. Not easy. I still find myself wanting to understand my mother’s actions more than my sister’s. Not difficult to understand that! While my mother may have ignored and neglected my emotional needs, my sister continually inflicted emotional harm on me. So I want to forgive mom and crucify my sister. I know that isn’t fair, tho. If some of my insights about my mom’s family are true, that means my sister was infected with the family sickness as much as I was. She learned to be a bitch from our mother, which means I really SHOULD blame my mother, even for my sister’s shitty behavior. Hard to muster that anger. Maybe if I could ever get past the rage at my sister I could finally be truly and righteously angry – 100% – at my mother. That could be…cathartic. I won’t say it would be nice (what I first wanted to type). Nice wouldn’t be anywhere near what would be going on.

All roads lead to dad….I don’t know exactly why, other than the fact that dad was safe and loving. But the more I explore issues with my sister and mother, the more I think of him. He’d be saddened by my struggle, I know. One of the last things he said to me was that he wanted me to get along with my sister. I want to do that for him, even tho he’s not here. And I can’t. I can’t stop wanting to kill her.

I can’t stop a lot of things. I work hard, cry, dig deep for new meaning, find zen for about 10 minutes, and then I’m right back where I started. I can’t let go even with my best intentions. Do I love to hate her that much? Do I value my pain so much that I’m actually unwilling to let it go on some level? I can’t answer that. I can say I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to keep remembering all the sneers, all the grinds under her heel. But no amount of my good intentions can get me out of this hell….

*ugh* And here I am, blithering on about esoteric thoughts rather than getting down to the nitty gritty. I can tell when I do it: there’s no cussing. I’ve got enough anger in me I should be cussing with every fucking sentence (there it fucking IS). No amount of cerebral vomit will rid me of my fucking anger if I don’t let the fucks fly when I feel them come on. FUCK!

….I don’t want to live there today. I could. But why? My railing at the world doesn’t do any good. It bothers my brother and winds him up. It incapacitates me for most of the day. I am too close to tears though they don’t fall. I want to worship sleep today: sleep, the small brother of death. SOOOOooooo not a good place, tho not an angry place, either. It’s a mini death, an exhaustion…Let me sleep the day away in peaceful slumber and awaken on a new morn!

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