October 21, 2016

And So I Write.

I make choices.

Feels weird to admit that, given my tendency to act as if things just happen to me.

But it's true. So much of what happens to me is based on the choices I make.

I don't sleep. That's not a choice. But I decide what to do during those long, sleepless hours.

I could drink myself into a stupor, substitute "passed out" for "couldn't sleep." But I don't. That's a dark path that scares me more than being awake.

I could sit and stare at the television. But I don't. I am losing my fondness for that sort of pleasure. I think it's because I can no longer sit comfortably. I fidget. I'm antsy and restless. So I don't sit passively and watch the television.

Instead, I write.

I blog about what is happening with my own sanity. (Or lack thereof, I suppose.)

I write lyrics to songs that will never be sang nor heard.

I write poetry, most of which passes from this world with a well-practiced backspace key.

But I write. Because putting words onto a screen makes me feel like these hours are not wasted. If I can't find peace in a dream, let me at least find comfort in finding my voice.