Down in a hole
A journal by Sean Fogarty
At night it's the worst. During the day, when things are active, when people are around, when thing things need to be done, it's not so bad. At night though, it's hell. When the light goes out and you're alone with your thoughts, and of course there's only one thing you think of. You try to stop. Try to relax and clear your head and fall asleep, but no sleep will come for you tonight. Only long hours spent at the computer, dulling your brain enough to forget about the things that hide in your head. The darkness drags you in like quicksand and makes you think what it wants you to think. You have no choice in the matter. That's when your heart races, your brow wrinkles and bowels twist. What's there to do but sit and read and smoke? I used to think that I didn't need anything to get me through the bad times. I used to think that I would relish the bad times as much as the good because they would make the good times seem that much better, and I'd know that much more about myself. I don't think that anymore. The things that I'm learning about myself now I wish I could forget. Now the need for a cigarette or a drink or ANYTHING is better than what is happening in my brain. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease and sometimes the disease wins anyway. So here I am, trying to quiet the screaming turmoil of my thoughts. Soon I'll have to go to bed and face the dark again. Wish me luck.
A journal by Sean Fogarty
At night it's the worst. During the day, when things are active, when people are around, when thing things need to be done, it's not so bad. At night though, it's hell. When the light goes out and you're alone with your thoughts, and of course there's only one thing you think of. You try to stop. Try to relax and clear your head and fall asleep, but no sleep will come for you tonight. Only long hours spent at the computer, dulling your brain enough to forget about the things that hide in your head. The darkness drags you in like quicksand and makes you think what it wants you to think. You have no choice in the matter. That's when your heart races, your brow wrinkles and bowels twist. What's there to do but sit and read and smoke? I used to think that I didn't need anything to get me through the bad times. I used to think that I would relish the bad times as much as the good because they would make the good times seem that much better, and I'd know that much more about myself. I don't think that anymore. The things that I'm learning about myself now I wish I could forget. Now the need for a cigarette or a drink or ANYTHING is better than what is happening in my brain. Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease and sometimes the disease wins anyway. So here I am, trying to quiet the screaming turmoil of my thoughts. Soon I'll have to go to bed and face the dark again. Wish me luck.
i stay up until my body just collapses into bed, and there is no chance of thinking a single thought. i think it's called depression. ugh.