I last slept on Monday, for three hours. I am an insomniac, it is something I’ve accepted. And it’s only a real drag when the sleepless nights turn to days and then to nights again. But this round is almost over now. I will sleep soon, my mind finally as worn as my body.
The anxiety that lodged itself in my chest cavity has fallen. I am breathing easier now. There is a subtle excitement that has crept up on me. I am not sure where it came from, but it is here now, and it is welcome.
Tonight there is hope in this emptiness, because it is new.
I’ve been holding back. There is more in me, I know. This is not a head-knowledge, it emerged from someplace else, someplace settled. It is this that allows me the freedom to fall over and over again and still believe. It is this that keeps pulling me back to the writing because there is more, always more, even when the words come slowly, the way they often do. It is this that keeps pushing me through my insecurity and fear.
This is not about success or failure. This is not about being first or last. This is about something much simpler, far more true. This is about allowing myself to breathe easier as I accept that this is not my last bout with insomnia. Or fear. Or insecurity. But this round is almost over now.
And when I wake, I will inhale this excitement and push forward.
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