Two Thirty A.M.

Image from Volkan Olmez on Unsplash

I am exhausted, with my head resting against the fluff of a pillow that has yet to lull me to sleep.

And while I’m exhausted and begging my eyes to close and my body to sink into the comfort of my pillow top,

I am wired; thinking, thinking, thinking.

Thinking about the things I didn’t get done.

The things I decided to do instead.

The things I shouldn’t have done at all.

Thinking about the words others said to hurt me,

The words I’ve said to hurt others,

The words I’ve said to hurt myself.

Thinking about the safety of the home I’m in,

The safety of the places that I visit,

The safety of myself in my own mind.

Thinking of the phone calls that I’ve missed,

The phone calls I chose to ignore,

The phone calls I wish had come in.

Thinking about the future I can’t control,

The past I can’t quit analyzing,

The present I’m not present in.

Thinking about the trauma I’ve endured.

The trauma that I’ve encouraged,

The trauma that I’ve caused.

Thinking of the times I put others first,

The times I put myself down.

The times I let others put me last.

Thinking of the noise I just heard outside,

The noise I don’t hear inside,

The noise I want to fill the quiet.

Thinking of the friends that I have lost,

The friends that I have gained,

The friends I don’t quite trust.

Thinking of how I should go to bed now,

How I should’ve gone to bed hours ago,

How I won’t fall asleep for a few more.

Thinking of–

Wait!

Stop thinking and just close your eyes.

Close your eyes and go to sleep, damnit.

You’ll think these things in your dreams too.

Might as well get some sleep while you do.

And while I’m exhausted, with my blanket pulled up to my chin and my eyes fixated on a clock that aggressively flashes two-thirty a.m.,

I am wired; thinking, thinking, thinking.

Always.

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