Sleep, by definition is the rest afforded by a suspension of voluntary bodily functions; the suspension of consciousness.
To cease being awake.

Lately, I’ve been mentally functioning a little over too much. Emotionally, psychologically, and physically, I’m fine. It’s the mental side of me that is… overloaded?
Stretched to test my potential.

I worry too much. I’m one of those people that worry too much about the future. I over analyze. I think of all possible solutions. I think of consequences. I plan ahead. I want to know what would happen if…
I plan… then I usually do whatever it is that my heart tells me is right. The world is too hard for the mind to bear without faith. Life is too short for bitterness to cover you.
I can not survive this lack of sleep. My eyes are bulged in with two dark shades underneath them that totally describe my empty, cold bed. My back aches. I can’t walk straight.
The wait is fucking killing me.

I so appreciate the blessing of sleep. الحمدلله Sleep is so underrated.
I miss my mental unavailability, where a piece of your mind splits off to some elsewhere, compass-lessly. Be it dreams or nightmares, at the end the body is resting.
I miss the wanting to spend all Friday night doing something that I love knowing that in a few hours I will do something else that I also love and that is sleep. I miss my pillow.

I miss being covered.

I don’t wanna think.
My mind keeps talking to me, asking me questions, sketching pictorials of my worst fears; schizophrenia at its prime.
But I don’t wanna listen.
I DON’T WANT TO LISTEN.

Sometimes… all I hear is chaos and clashing voices of my demons. I have unlearned their language.
I am lost in my persuasive insomnia and its persistence is dominating over my existence. Its grotesque nature eats at my flesh every single night.
My eyes hurt.
Sleep is also defined as being dormant.

It’s like living in two worlds…
Surviving two destinies. What’s real and what you aspire to.
My head hurts. The weights of two dimensions pulling me, using me as a fucking pivot for the rest of the world to feel balanced and feel fucking OK.

I wanna sleep. I wanna dream of her.
But I can’t. My mind is too fucking occupied like a bus filled with 40 passengers all wanting to go home.

Sleep is also defined as the state of mind where nothing really matters;
This part of my life is when so many things matter, when so many people matter, when the world is no longer your fucking oyster and you’re no longer the shiny pearl sitting in your gruesome bubble… your mind feels weak. You gotta get out of your cave and face them all… I… fucking… can’t.
I can’t even talk to her. My mind is filled with dots marking the blank spaces of things I so wanna tell her… but I can’t. My voice… sounds like someone else’s.

My mind can’t handle weak. I am failing at becoming myself.

I am tired of hoping. And the more sleep ignores me, the more I despise it, the more I don’t want it.

The more I fucking fear it…
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.

Most of all…I am tired of my inability at being myself around her.

It’ll get better around this weekend… I know it.

Don’t you dare wake me up!

Am Busy!!