Monday, June 21, 2010

I want to dream about falling.

I need to dream about falling.

But I haven't been dreaming much lately.

I guess to dream, one has to actually sleep.

Lying in bed awake on my back, staring at the ceiling is close, I suppose, but not quite enough.

Every night I fill my head with other peoples' voices in attempt to stop my own thoughts.

I don't know why I bother.

I have yet to learn that it has yet to help.

My body feels like lead.

I feel that if I were to start running, my inertia would carry me through all that stood in my way, and I would never be able to stop.

So I don't run.

I don't get excited.

I don't dance.

I don't sing.

I don't smile.

I don't laugh.

I don't get upset.

I don't do anything that might send me running off towards that endless horizon.

Endless, that is, until I hit a body of water and sink to the deepest depths that my stupidly finite lungs will allow me to experience before they fill themselves with fluid, extinguishing this horrible thing that I have become.

Or, perhaps, this horrible thing that I have been all along, and was simply too young in my past to embrace it as I have now.

This may be a horrible way to live, in the opinion of others.

People tell me all the time that I need to see a doctor or look into medications or go to therapy or, and this is my personal favorite, simply be happier.

If I could simply be happier, do you think this would have even come up in the first place?

I am honestly okay with my unhappiness most of the time.

If I were happy, I would not search for answers.

I would not question things as I do.

Everything comes at a cost.

My unhappiness is simply the price that I pay for my science.

And it's a price that I pay every single second of every single day without hesitation, doubt, or fear.

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