Okay, I was trying to be clever and poke fun at myself by mentioning my battle with insomnia. My insomnia, while not a new phenomenon for me, a real and painful event triggered this recent spell. It was preceded by a period of hypersomnia with intermittent bouts of crying, where I either slept most of the day and woke up only to cry and fall asleep again, or I cried all day until I fell asleep.The sleeping and crying went on for a week or two before the insomnia took over.
The event I alluded to, is too ugly and hurtful for me to recount. I am too disgusted with myself to reveal the abuse I suffered at the hand of someone I believed to be a friend. For now, it will remain a secret. I have hope–in time I can banish it to the archives in my subconscious with all of my other secrets. I am good at keeping secrets. It is not something I am proud of–secrets are hardly ever pious. It is a skill I am proficient at, only after many years of practice.
Insomnia? Betrayal? Shame? Any one of them or all have contributed to my self-loathing and melancholy. I feel like Alice falling down the proverbial rabbit hole, lost and very very small. I am in a dark place. I am alone. I am losing hope of ever finding my way home. Home is not a place but a feeling for me, a feeling that I can let my guard down and rest. It is being at peace with myself and the world.
