Little Bits of Nothing

I'm sitting in bed with the lights off.  It's 11:15 and I hoped to be asleep hours ago.

I got home from a long day around 6:30 tonight.  My Dad, sweet man that he is, brought takeout home for the both of us. He set my plate on the TV tray adjacent to his, which was all I needed to sit and eat with him, foregoing my room where I normally eat at my desk while doing homework. We watched a show together, a re-run of The Real Housewives of Atlanta. He stays young and hip through these little things; the reality TV shows, the unlikely music, the leather Ecko jackets, all of which keep me laughing and endear him more to me.

So, I ate a little slower tonight and held onto that moment that I know I may long for at a later time, before returning to my room.

But now, here I am. Sitting in the darkness. It's less depressing, than it sounds. It's  comforting for me actually.

This is what I do. To stop thinking about everything and start thinking about the little bits of nothing that fill the empty spaces. I tend to play songs on repeat, which I think may be an attempt to drain my soul of whatever thought or emotion I am mulling over. Sometimes it takes longer than others. Tonight's song is Happiness, which, as it turns out, is not a happy song.

It's less about happiness than it is about acceptance, something I'm working towards in several areas of my life.

Like this insomniac lifestyle. I make peace with it every night as everything around me gets quieter and my mind gets louder. I make peace with it every morning as I sip my coffee and try my best not to complain. I think my body's nagging disagreement with this life is wearing on me the most. My muscles are gripping my bones too tightly, my jaw constantly clenched and there's a constant burning in my stomach.

But all of these things are symptoms of a bigger issue.  It's an anxiety disorder, as I was told three years ago. And there are ways to treat it, when I'm ready.

And that sounds simple enough, except these things that require treatment are the things that are the most me. These idiosyncrasies are the most authentic pieces of me. The other pieces of me that people know, are born of necessity. Rehearsed and perfected. It's these things things that slip out in the darkness that are the truth.

So I  don't think I'm ready. But, maybe speaking of it for the first time and owning it is enough for now. Because readiness, for me, comes in steps. Baby steps.