Thursday, April 21, 2011
In contrast to my thoughts, the blackened room is strangely refreshing.
The only stimuli are the continual purring of the ceiling fan above me, deep, rhythmic breathing to my left and the dimly lit clock to my right with its glaring proclamation that night has passed and early morning hours are here.
Sleep has proven elusive yet again. The breeze from the fan is chilling to my naked body but thinking of lying beneath the blanket, trying to stop the racing thoughts, is claustrophobic.
I've looked over the prescription bottles at my bedside a number of times. I've already consumed a myriad of medications during the last few hours in the attempt to attain, what tonight, seems unattainable. In my mind echos of the words, "just one more, just one more" taunt me. I fully realize that just one more could be one too many. So I wait and I write. Meanwhile the clock ticks away reminding me of my failure to stop the thoughts and rest peacefully.
Wish me luck, I'm going to give it one more chance.