I believe the reason why I wanted to write is the same reason why anyone does anything. I began to write because I wanted to find my way.
I wanted to understand myself but more than anything else, I wanted to find my own source of freedom.
In this case, everything I would have to write about would need to be true, which may not be true to you or anyone else —but that was okay with me because everything I wrote and everything I journaled is and was true to me. And such is the same that can be said about perception, in which I mean perception is not truth; it’s just true to me, which is fine for now.
I began to detail my life to reach a better level of awareness and remove the blinders of my trained beliefs.
I needed to question myself—wait, no. Allow me to rephrase this. I needed to challenge myself because living this way with my thinking as it was, with my doubt always interfering with the belief in possibility, and with my thoughts focused on the expectation of the next “Bad” thing and the daunting fears that overwhelmed my rational thinking, and living stuck in the deception of my own thinking systems did nothing else but create more fear, more shame, more regret, and more despair.
Therefore, I needed to create an outlet to break this cycle, which is why I began to write.
I needed to drain the infection of my thoughts. I needed a relief valve to alleviate the pressure of pent up energy. Moreover, I needed a redeeming act so that in times like now, when sleep is not in the cards, and when tossing and turning is all I could do —instead of watching the clock or giving into anxious ideas, I found my rest by relieving myself of my thoughts. So, the hell with it. If I can’t sleep, —I figured I might as well write. At least this way I could create something productive.
The hour is just after 3:00am, which is fine because I have to be up shortly anyway. I wake up early to head to my day job, which pays the bills. This is great but the day job falls a little short in satisfying my desires. Because, you see, the truth is I want more.
Don’t we all?
The day job heals the pocket but not necessarily the heart, but nevertheless, Mr. Mortgage does not care much about my heart or my dreams; therefore, I go to work like the rest of the world to solve my debts and hope that someday, my trick pays off, which it might because prefect or not—at least I pay my trick the attention it deserves.
At least I hold to my commitment to try and each day, I try a little more. I shape a little here and there.
And what I mean is, each day I come here to see you, which is my dream. And you, well, quite honestly, you are everyone.
You are the one I love most in this world. You are the one that inspires me. You are everything to me. You are the one that drives me, and yet, I contradict myself in the same text because you are also the one that frightens me.
You are the one that doubts me. You are the one that holds me back, in which I say again, you are everyone—and yet at the same time, you are only me.
Therefore, I say “You” to define and personalize this thought with the outstanding need for emotion.
I want to give my words grit and substance. I want this to have meaning to you. I want you to feel and to think.
I want you to understand and be understood and able to speak freely with me here, without judgement, without stigma, without any marks of shame or regret, anonymously, and in an atmosphere that is free enough for both you and I to lay down our masks of deception and be free enough to be ourselves without concern.
This is place means everything to me, and so do you, which is why I come here to see you and invite you here with me. This is all that I have, so please be gentle with what I show you because this is everything I have.
Literally . . .
I am here now, in this little place I call my own, which can be as big or small as anything I imagine. I have the freedom and the power to do this here because I chose to give myself the permission to write this way, openly, and wholeheartedly.
And I should say this now before going onward —I have come here for one purpose and one purpose alone, to seek my truth and to find my lineage to this thing I call freedom.
And freedom per se, is not what it might mean to you or to anyone else. No, I want to find out what freedom is to me, in which case, I must be aware; I must allow myself to reach a heightened level of consciousness to come into my best level of understanding.
Furthermore, I have come to understand that understanding is my direct link to freedom because so long as I understand me (and you) than I am not threatened anymore. No one can or will impose upon me because no one will be able to say something about me that can hurt me because I know me.
Freedom is the ability to end the incessant arguments we have in our heads. This is the internal narrative that opposes our thinking and causes one thought to explode into another in a daisy chain effect—like a series of explosions that detonate from one idea into the next until, suddenly, anxiety overwhelms us and sleep is the furthest thing from possible.
This why I created this passage that I call “Bedtime Stories for the Insomniac,” because this is my insomnia prose —this is the place where you and me can collaborate and allow our relief system to stop us from reaching emergency levels of thought.
I have come here to write to you because above all things, I love you most. I want to see you rise above your own consequences and the other various reflexive pronouns that trigger the “Ego” effect and cause us pain.
I decided to write this because all of the above is true. I am well. I am good. I am me, and as me, I am also allowing myself the permission to alleviate me from my thought system, which is why I come here.
I need this place. Above all, I need you.
I need you and me to drop the act and quit this whole scene. I need us to find our rhythm, which is why I came here to begin with.
I have come here to find my voice. I have come here to create this voice and without fear; I have come here to find you, my long lost soul, to be, to love, to have and to hold until death do us part.
I have been chattering along now on my keyboard, typing away like a madman without looking up or looking back —writing my way through this, word after word in full and complete stream of consciousness because this is the most honest I will ever be with anyone.
And if I am going to be honest —then let me be honest here, with you, where it is safe because yes, I know that I am safest with you (here) because you are me and I am you, and you and me, together, will be able to do anything if we choose to.
We just need to get rid of the monkey-brain thinking that jumps around like a crazy little chimpanzee.
Did I tell you I have a lump on my elbow? The Dr. says its nothing. But me, I see this as a source of my age, which frightens me. Then again, I have always been frightened of mortality and the fading fact that life is only temporary, which might be true.
But you? And me? As I see it, if I leave this here, you and I will always be a permanent fixture in this universe. And someday, maybe, maybe not, you might read this and remember when you felt most alone and then realize, no, you were never alone nor could you have ever been alone.
It’s because I have always been with you.