I can always tell when it's about to hit me like a ton of bricks, right square on my chest.
The proverbial ton of bricks usually comes in the shape of my head playing a continuous loop of Counting Crows songs. So between my Raining in Baltimore replay, and the burning in my eyes I usually get when I want to cry, I find myself getting bronchitis again. Again as in, didn't I just get over my first episode of it 2 weeks ago? This time, however, I skipped right over to the antibiotics right away...I can't put my lungs through that again. I went to bed feeling a little disappointed in some things, people, memories...but mainly loathing myself in a way that all of you may have found familiar at one time or another. I realize that - in general - I'm a good person, and that as a human being it is understandable one is not perfect in any definition of the word. Instead of sitting up all night crying, feeling sorry for myself when in reality I could be much much worse off, I just read for a bit and forced my eyes to close even when I wasn't sleepy. Bad move.
The images were haunting, desolate. I dreamed I was in an abandoned military base out in the desert and there was no life around me. I kept screaming and my voice just echoed off the empty buildings around me. The sun was high and I went down into some underground bunkers for relief from the intense heat. Everything is garbled. I just heard throaty groans, looked behind me and saw a few dozen 'bodies' following me. They made these horrifying noises and the scuffling of their steps got closer, as I cried out. Not really for help, but just cries. Sobs, dry screams of desperation and realization that there is nothing left. Just endless darkness, horrors, and I have no air to breathe.
I woke up feeling like all the joy was sucked out of the world forever, and I would've killed to run out my door barefoot as I was and head over to the nearest soul that could hold me until I was tired of crying/shaking. I have people I "know" in town, about 2 friends...but they probably wouldn't take it happily to have me calling their cell phone at 3 a.m. asking for a hug in a high hysterical voice. I tweeted desperation, out into the cyber atmosphere...I wished for courage to close my eyes again. But in the end the tears won, the fear won.
I don't feel so good. Which is probably the hugest understatement of the century.
The proverbial ton of bricks usually comes in the shape of my head playing a continuous loop of Counting Crows songs. So between my Raining in Baltimore replay, and the burning in my eyes I usually get when I want to cry, I find myself getting bronchitis again. Again as in, didn't I just get over my first episode of it 2 weeks ago? This time, however, I skipped right over to the antibiotics right away...I can't put my lungs through that again. I went to bed feeling a little disappointed in some things, people, memories...but mainly loathing myself in a way that all of you may have found familiar at one time or another. I realize that - in general - I'm a good person, and that as a human being it is understandable one is not perfect in any definition of the word. Instead of sitting up all night crying, feeling sorry for myself when in reality I could be much much worse off, I just read for a bit and forced my eyes to close even when I wasn't sleepy. Bad move.
The images were haunting, desolate. I dreamed I was in an abandoned military base out in the desert and there was no life around me. I kept screaming and my voice just echoed off the empty buildings around me. The sun was high and I went down into some underground bunkers for relief from the intense heat. Everything is garbled. I just heard throaty groans, looked behind me and saw a few dozen 'bodies' following me. They made these horrifying noises and the scuffling of their steps got closer, as I cried out. Not really for help, but just cries. Sobs, dry screams of desperation and realization that there is nothing left. Just endless darkness, horrors, and I have no air to breathe.
I woke up feeling like all the joy was sucked out of the world forever, and I would've killed to run out my door barefoot as I was and head over to the nearest soul that could hold me until I was tired of crying/shaking. I have people I "know" in town, about 2 friends...but they probably wouldn't take it happily to have me calling their cell phone at 3 a.m. asking for a hug in a high hysterical voice. I tweeted desperation, out into the cyber atmosphere...I wished for courage to close my eyes again. But in the end the tears won, the fear won.
I don't feel so good. Which is probably the hugest understatement of the century.
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