I almost didn't write this post. I wouldn't do that to you, but I was sorely tempted.
You see, I've been working a lot more than I'm used to working lately, and work has been much more stressful than usual to boot. I'm not going to tell you the number of hours or anything -- one of you would probably just one-up me -- but it's far more than I'm comfortable with. This has had a very specific impact on me, and that impact is primarily psychological.
My schedule is going back to normal soon, and that's good, because I'm essentially a complete wreck. I think, at a couple points today, I started hallucinating. Things that I was looking at flickered so that, just for an instant, I was looking at something completely different. This has started happening in my memories, as well. It's very unsettling! Things are supposed to be the things that they are!
Last night, I stayed up very, very late -- not because I had anything interesting to do, but because I knew that the sooner I went to sleep, the sooner I'd have to go back to work. It's not that I hate my job; I really enjoy it. But it's entirely possible to have too much of something you enjoy. That's worth considering.
So I stayed up late, and then I woke up very, very early; anything, I guess, to give myself a little extra time at home. Again, not that I did anything meaningful with it. At this point in my insanity spiral, I suppose I'm just desperate for time at home.
The insanity is really the problem. It's the ceaseless chattering of a thousand voices, each pulling my attention to its own senseless pleas. It's the constant buzz of underthought that diminishes my focus into a dull, purposeless meander. It's the searing agony of my brain at war with itself, cannibalizing my positive feelings for fuel in its constant battle.
There are ways to manage madness. There are techniques to compensate for it, to allow yourself to function normally when it might otherwise completely debilitate you. There are reasons I can live hopefully, and sometimes achieve things.
Today, those reasons are meaningless. Today started out as a hollow attempt at personhood, and it has degenerated into something much, much worse. But, really, no worse than I've felt at various times in the past.
Still, "things have been worse" is nothing like a silver lining. It's like...you see this stream, and you dip your hands into it, and you hear
I am so terrible so cruel so guilty I have committed so many crimes no I haven't but I will and then they will agree that I am what I thought I was and no worse than the majority of them but certainly no better and that may be but then why do I feel so guilty when I've done nothing really wrong and they all said so it doesn't make any sense why can't it just make sense why can't I just do something really, really bad so they can't tell me I'm wrong about being wrong anymore
That's pretty disturbing.
Luckily, I have found a balm for my malady. There is some music (not all, but some) which acts as a palliative to my darker moods. I don't know what it is; I hear those pure tones, and the woes just melt away.
The Weakerthans.
Sibelius.
My own music.
These are some of the ways I can try to put my brain back into its bottle, and regain some measure of control over my own thought processes. And when I can't manage that, then oblivion seems preferable. But I have no idea where to find it.
One more reason to hate sleep: its succors are incomplete and temporary. Tonight I may avoid it entirely. This is a scholarly exercise, you know, and I plan to learn a lot. Yeah, like this.
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