Tired… So .. Very.. Tired…

Saturday, January 5, 2013
8am

Tired.
I am beyond words, tired.
To my very bones.
Every muscle. Every sinew.
Every inch of my body and soul.
Tired.

Worn out.
Used Up.
Unable to look forward.
And looking back brings nothing
But regret and tears.

I am trapped in the twilight.
The edges of awareness.
Medicated into a state of Blankness.
Unknowingness.
Which is probably for the best.

This..
This is not Living.
It is just a putting on hold,
A suspension of that spark that is me.
One that will only end in one way.
With the smothering of the Spark.

Now, or Later..
What is the real difference.?
All I am now is a zombie.
A golem. A machine.
Numb to all around me,
And not caring one way or the other.

And the saddest part?
It does NOTHING for the pain.
That Demon follows me into my very dreams,
Where it can torture me endlessly,
Again! And Again! And yet Again!
And I am helpless to wake from its agony.

18 hours or more a day in its clutches….
Burned, Stabbed, Cut, Torn, Impaled…
Again! And Again! And Again!!
Without respite. Or rescue.

Last night?
In the dreamscape,
I was flying a hang-glider…
Until I hit a suspended wire,
And cut my legs off above the knees.
With a chunk of my own left thigh stabbing into my side.
And the fall to the ground,
Took f.o.r.e.v.e.r.

Or, I was walking across a suspension bridge,
When a truck drove by and hit something in the road,
Bouncing a 12 foot section of re-bar off its bed,
Impaling me to the bridge, with six foot in front of me,
And six foot behind me.
Leaving me for an eternity,
To watch my own blood drip and mix with the water below.

My own Dreamscape is now
My Prison. My Torturer. My Enemy.
Yet I am consigned
To most of each and every day,
To its non-existent tender mercies.

No.
This isn’t living.
It isn’t even surviving.
It is Hell.
And ANYTHING would be better than this.

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~ by daveprime on January 5, 2013.

2 Responses to “Tired… So .. Very.. Tired…”

  1. Every chapter has an ending and every novel. Sometimes, when the last word is painful, I turn around and look to the far far past, before I was born, and know that was a story too and it didn’t hurt, it didn’t stress, it didn’t choke and it was peaceful.

  2. reminds me of the PTSD my husband has,his dreams are violent but he can’t remember them,just the emotions

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