Insomnia

Have you ever felt the type of lonely where you are surrounded by the people you enjoy most on this earth, and yet still find yourself drowning in the gulf of differences that lie between yourself and them? That there seems to be no place anywhere where you belong, no place where you can take off your shoes and run your toes through the rug, no place where you can find yourself completely, utterly at ease? That no matter what this modern culture of ours tells us, independence is a joke, a lie we tell ourselves in order to feel that we’re not missing out on being part of something greater?

I have. I do. Now. Right now, as of this very moment, I feel a chasm inside my belly. The rivers of lies and insecurities have flowed unhindered for years, carving its channels in the living tissue of my intestines. Empty is not how feel. I feel bloated, overflowing with self-defense mechanisms, sarcastic wit, and denial. You see, my world is changing. Turned upside down and loopdyloop, with no indication as to where the metamorphosis will stop. My sense of self is shattered, with every fragment of who I am or what I was lying on a carpet of velvet mockery. Yes, mockery. The very ground I stand on mocks me because every shattered piece, every fragmented edge of me reflects an image that bleeds my eyes from the utter horror of what is front me.

This can’t be me. I am not this malevolent human being that so delightfully feeds on the sufferings and discomforts of others. Of course, I am right. That is not me. Yet even the most venerable of saints has the capacity to act out evil upon others, and this is what I have done. I have to come to terms with the fact that I am a good person, yet, in the past I have wronged my peers in order to have a higher perception of who I am.

This very night, the demons are pestering me… no, forcing me to pay attention to each and every one of them. They are tired, exhausted, fatigued. Fatigued of always running round and round, round and round. You see, the purpose of one’s regrets, our “demons” if you will, is not to haunt us like I, at least, have always believed. No. No no no no. Not at all. How very irresponsible of me to think so. Regrets are not punishments from some higher power, tormenting us with the memories of what might have been. No. Regrets serve a much higher purpose. They exist to remind us that there is some unfinished business in this life we must atone for.

No one is exempt. No one is innocent. I could be wrong. I wouldn’t bet on it though. But this isn’t about everyone else. This is about me. I am not exempt. I am not innocent. For the last half of my life I have felt unclean. Every action I have taken in the past has had consequences, whether pleasant or dire, and it is in these consequences that I have created a framework of experiences, making me what I am. Not who, but what. I have absolutely no idea, no clue, as to who I am.

How does one begin to find redemption? How can one be cleansed of all the unworthiness one acquires from this world, when it is life itself that makes one unclean? To live is to experience and to experience is to sin is it not? Maybe I’m just rambling on. I have been accused of being “full of it”. People have often described me as “verbose” and I am considered an ever flowing fountain of “jargon”. The truth is that I am alone and it kills me. Plain and simple. I don’t think it can get any blunter than that. I am human. Blood is racing through the various parts of my body as we speak. The criterion for being a person is met, no? All these thoughts flow in and out of my head to the point where it resembles the comings and goings of adventure seekers testing fate as they careen head first into the rapids. The sheer volume and content of these thoughts is so large, I’m beginning to question whether they have been in my head at all. If it wasn’t for the lingering impression, the memory of them, I would surely be committed, or at least medicated. And that is not a thought that oozes comfort now is it?

Come to think of it, all I’ve done up till now is think. Pondering the mysteries of the universe in the most superficial of ways, because let’s face it, I don’t even know a fraction of what people think I know. I’ve found myself to be lacking in many areas. I’ve put up a front, you see. I’m supposed to have a clear grasp on chemistry, physics, biology, calculus, poetry, writing, boxing, reading, friendships, love, and me, among other things. Truth be told, I really don’t. My sin lies in the fact that I’ve done nothing to disprove the suppositions of others. It’s expected of me to be well-rounded. After all, I am a certified gifted/genius according to IQ tests given to me at the age of 5. Apparently, no one understands how much can change in two decades, or even wants to. Anyway, I’m not going to be the one to tell them since the end result of all this could either be a fear of failure or a desire to be Superman. Unfortunately, I’ve acquired both.

See my dilemma? I have this need to save everyone and everything but I’m afraid to try. I must do something with my life so extraordinary that I will be remembered for generations to come for my righteousness, but I don’t know where to begin. Not to mention that I feel morally corrupt since my motives to do the right thing aren’t entirely devoid of ego.