If you’re scared to love someone, that’s the best indicator that it’s real. It must be frightening that the love you’ve been craving all your life is finally right in front of you.
You’re scared that if you wanted it, it’s yours.
You’re scared that the unconditional love you give, you’ll receive in return.
Ultimately you’re scared because, what if something goes wrong? Don’t be scared.
What if something goes right.
Oh to see the reel of dreams play within my brain, To relieve the aches and pains of today, believe you me, I’d pay A fortune or maybe three.
For now, idly in my bed I sit, eyes wide open And mind hollow but filled with shit… And also regret, mostly that I let Myself, with hesitation, full of trepidation, lest what I think Might happen, actually happen (And it did , oh God) If I should stir from my rest, yet again… Get up and drink that cool, Thirst quenching, fucking refreshing Glass of water From my Brita water fountain.
Because, of course, I can’t sleep if I’m thirsty! No! Thirst is the murderer of slumbrous activity, The killer of a good night’s natural affinity To close your eyes and wander that realm Of wonder that is made up of Imagination, the day’s experience and other memory. Thirst is the ultimate executioner… Well, that and the need to pee Which I have a sneaking suspicion Is now sneaking up on me.
So off I go to wee. And I am surprised at how little I need To relieve myself, as I sit, bum on freezing porcelain and squeeze. Oh how my body sees fit to deceive me! That I got up out of my bed for this, desperate as all Hell to go, Only to expel but the tiniest bit!
Oh well. Maybe now I can finally-
Just kidding, fucker! Please! that would be too easy! What? You think that I’d just be able to just retreat and ease myself into my blankets For some glorious, well earned zzz’s? So naive it’s almost endearing But instead of resting I’ll be seeing and feeling and hearing Zillions of unnecessary or uninteresting or unwanted things: Memories I mostly don’t want to relive or remember Hypotheticals that are too strange, too scary for a rested mind to even consider Emotions not explainable by common sense And that irritating song that was overplayed on the radio last December.
I silently beg for serenity For a stillness of my consciousness. But to try and purge, to supress this mess of thoughts and words Makes, in retaliation, upsurge The dull chitter chatter of my brain, To a screaming, table slamming argument With as much reason and rhyme as the migraine-inducing Conversation clatter of teatime with the Mad Hatter. Painful to say the least, and driving me just as much, If not more insane.
But you know what they say? Sometimes the best ideas come at night! Well, alright. Although occasionally, when I do find that some epiphany Reveals itself to me, in an explosion of neurological confetti, Come the light of morning, the bright idea is gone from my mind, lost in the duration Of time or the expanse of space, or replaced With the realisation that the bright idea Wasn’t that bright in the first damn place.
But maybe… I need to suffer before genius emerges. It’s impossible to gain anything on the verge of significant or witty Without at least enduring a bit of pain or a time fairy shitty… Or so I’m urged to believe, because if not, I’ll be forced to accept That this is all for zilch, for nil. That I’ve been directed into climbing uphill Only to inspect views of a garbage till Or wreck. And at this point I can’t conceive it. My brain simply rejects the possibility that maybe This torture doesn’t connect into some Salvageable excuse for a night unslept.
So here I am. Ready for inspiration to befall me, for its glory to enthrall me, Right before I manage to finally fall asleep. Yes, I am tired beyond belief, Sure, I’m dying for relief, Of course I’m becoming woozy, I can barely think ahead, and my rhymes are starting to really suck Because, well, fuck! My brain is cruisin’ along on this long, noisy, winding trip Where all roads lead to thoughts of snoozin’.
But I am resigned to the fact that inspiration, like sleep, creeps in at its own pace. So I will stop fighting my consciousness, This mad battle for dominance, And let the rattle just happen naturally. Perhaps then, I’ll find that the right State of mind will come to me, in time. If not now, then maybe tomorrow night.
Until then, even if a bit too late, Sleep, for thee I shall sit and patiently wait.
Oh dear. So it has come to this… *breathes* Okay. Here goes.
Hello, everyone. My name is Katerina… and I’m an addict.
I do it all the time. If you catch me at any spare moment, there’s a good chance you’ll find me doing it. And if I’m not, you can bet your sweet ass I’m thinking about the next time I can.
It started as a one time thing. I thought it would be fun to try, and it was. But it was too fun. Soon I began doing it every time I was bored, and then even when I wasn’t. I told myself I could stop any time if I wanted. I was wrong. So very wrong. The truth is, it only took one time to get me hooked.
When I stop doing it, I’m overcome with anxiety. This immediate and overwhelming sense of need draws me in time and time again, like a giant magnet or the gravitational pull of a planet. If something or someone interrupts me, I get irritable, lashing out at anyone unlucky to be in my immediate surroundings. Friend or enemy, loved one or stranger, no one is exempt from my wrath. Sometimes I get violent or say things I don’t mean, usually to innocent bystanders and often with children present.
I have become reclusive because of it. I am drawn into this world where it’s just me and it, it and me. We hate and love. We hurt and we heal. There is no end and no beginning, just us intertwined, looping eternally in this desperate waltz. Some people say I do it to escape reality… Maybe they’re right, maybe they’re wrong. Either way it doesn’t matter, because the high I get from it transcends any need to identify the cause. Every time I try it, I feel like I come a little closer to paradise. Nearer and nearer, but never quite there. I long to reach that pinnacle. It is my Holy Grail.
But I am scared. Scared I will never reach it, and even more terrified that one day I might, and then never be able to reach that euphoria again. That I’d live the rest of my life in the hangover of the greatest high, with only the increasingly distant memory of the Eden I can never return to. Nevertheless I still try to get there, doing it again and again. I want to stop, but I can’t. No… Not yet.
I can only hope that one day I will overcome this addiction. That I can clean up and go back to my old, happy existence. In the meantime, I will use my story to serve as a warning to you all, and maybe… just maybe you will learn from my mistake.