I try to sleep

Or maybe I try to keep myself awake. It seems like I’m tired every single day. It’s been like this for a long time, being so drained. I’d like to think of myself as strong, like most young men would, but I feel worn.

I have moments of clarity in bursts, the day otherwise piddles along in a sort of carousal scene with everything smearing into one big stain. Sometimes I wonder at what age it is that my body will begin to decay, because it seems like it’s started. My fingers ache, my knees grow weak, my eyes always in a state of crusted over pain, like waking up from a night of drinking. Conversations reach my ears, but they can’t pick up on what’s being said. I don’t know if this is normal.

People ask me if I’m angry since I’m always scowling with furrowed brows, so I give them a weak excuse. Really, I strain to focus my eyes, my mind occasionally slipping into a state of blankness. They ask me if I’m sad, I’m merely indifferent. When I let loose a curse, it’s like relieving pressure from a tire that’s been stretched to it’s limits, ready to tear open. I don’t know if this is healthy.

I bear a lot of shame in being born in the place I was. Shame for not thinking the way others do. Shame for wanting to be alone and away from people. I grieve over my thoughts and actions, the beliefs I hold, the things I’ve seen. I’ve tried keeping my thoughts to myself, but my head swells up when I hold too much in. I don’t know if this is saddening.

This swelling manifests as “the eel”. He’s a serpentine creature that lives at the very center of my head, a creature that forces his way to the outer folds of the brain when I become stressed. These moments of stress cause him to writhe between the bone and the tissue, with his tendinous body contorting over and over, magnifying the pain.

He came out when my parents divorced, when the girl I loved died, when I overdosed. He comes out when I think about how my pool of friends is slowly shrinking. He comes out when I think about how unfair it is to be born. He even seems to relish in my thoughts of vengeance. I wish he’d leave.

It seems as though he’s here to stay. I’m not sure for how long. Maybe some sort of personal reformation would help with this, or maybe it’s genetic. He didn’t always have a name, but these full-body-migraines would become so frequent that I would eventually start referring to them/him as the eel. He dominates my sleep, and as result, my life.