Finding the Crazy, Brginning notes etc.

Sleeping is the only thing I can seem to do. Except at night, when normal human beings do it. I want to. When I lay my head down on that pillow, and push myself to sleep in the darkness- that’s when the nightmares come. Some of the things I see are real things, others aren’t. But that is my reality, my waking hours are occupied by the same fears. And I don’t think that I can control either. I am consumed by all of the horrible things that I have seen in my short time alive. The number seems too great for someone as young as I am, and too small considering the world we live in.


The other morning I woke up and went outside for a cigarette. I had wrapped myself warm in my new coat. I had slipped on my beat up converse all stars, and laced them onto my feet. I was still in an old pair of leggings that I had worn to bed the night before. Sitting on the steps by the mailboxes, I lit the death stick and watched the tip flame up and then soften to an orange cherry glow. I love the taste of menthol in my lungs. The first sip of nicotine in the morning can only by made better by sex, or a cup of coffee. I had neither of those, and so, I just sat there mulling my thoughts. A dangerous thing if you have my head. Not to say that my thoughts are all bad, but they tend to follow a path of there own. I never know where I am going to end up in my mind. That’s scary enough.
Sitting there I could’ve traveled the world, made plans, noticed the sweet neighbor cat passing by. But daydreams are for people with a softer heart then mine, people with happy memories. All I could think of is how grey my world is. Just looking at myself it was all I saw. My new coat, those worn shoes... even my make shift pajamas were grey. Then around me was a typical Seattle day. It was wet, and grey. How did I end up here, with this sad excuse of a literally grey existence? The question was deeper then why I was outside of my boyfriends apartment. Or in Seattle. When had I decided that this was the life that I wanted? Everything around me seemed to shift to black and white. The shades of “I Love Lucy” formed around me, without americana comedy laced into them. And things seemed to become more clear. It was like the first time I used my glasses to read. Everything got sharp, and the once muggy outlines were now clear strokes.

Somethings wrong with me.

I haven’t been to class in almost a month. Part because I can only sleep during the day, and part the fact that I think that the school building is evil. How do you tell someone this? Or even admit it to yourself?