Are they really there?

I’m sitting outside enjoying the quiet outdoors with wireless headphones that are picking up a broadcast from the living room stereo. The sweet sounds of Carpe Tenebrum. Then… sirens. I remove the headphones to, y’know, get a better listen. No sirens. Fooled again. Good one brain.

I didn’t sleep well last night. Again. I don’t often have nightmares. I just stay awake watching the internal playback reel instead. I did when I was doing the inpatient treatment but I wasn’t allowed weed there. That seems to stop them. Mostly. I went through a phase of seeing my insomnia as proof I was a failure as a human; I was unable to do something that seemed pretty basic and universal. Like breathing.

Everyone has problems but am I so emotionally delicate that I can’t even sleep? I’m already a disgrace to the uniform and my gender and now this? Disgusting. Stop being such a fucking pussy you piece of shit.

How fucked up is it to view having feelings as failing at both work and life? I was repulsed with myself for struggling with feelings.

The first step is being okay with needing to take the first step. Eye roll.

Most nights I’m so tired that I just lay there and take it, hoping nothing newly remembered creeps in. Feelings. Seems they’re the real normal. It’s still hard to cry but at least I accept I’m supposed to. Some nights when I realize I’m hearing the head sirens again a tear or two streams down my face but now I welcome them. Even if they do still feel like weakness sometimes.