Writing on meds

As I am writing this, I chugged a good amount of sleeping pills. Not to kill myself of course but to calm myself down before I go to bed, to stop the nightmares that I normally have. They work too well must admit, I can't feel a thing. 20 minutes have already passed. I'm in my bed now. I hear the wind blowing, and my dog scratching the doors. He wants to lie down next to me. I can't get up, I can't force myself to go to him. I feel peace. I feel emptiness. The type of empty heart that other people have. I have now a normal heart, the one that feels nothing in times like this, in times of being alone in bed. Alone and bed. Bed and alone. Dog scratching doors, wind blowing.

You see, I am a pretty girl, I can't complain about that. My real misery is having a brain that talks with me too much. I can't force her to shut up.

I see every single detail of this painting- life. My fellow writers will understand me for sure. You guys know how it feels, to sit in a room full of people and see everyone's stories written down on their faces. You guys must know how it feels like to feel their pain, and emotions, to hear their thoughts. Oh, their thoughts are the ones that scare me the most. It's like a map that shows you their world, their wrinkles expose pain and agony. Suddenly you can write a book about understanding these maps, you feel like you can show how to read them.

You must think that it's not that bad, reading wrinkles and seeing the details. Well, I can assure you that every single human existence is the most disgusting experience. Their stories are ugly, full of imperfection and sin, full of hate and egoism combined with selfishness and lust. Being able to see all of that feels the same as hearing all the screams from hell.

After an hour, I must say I am completely calm and happy, in a peaceful way. I feel no need to write more about my misery. Sleeping might be the best idea. Good night.

Sleeping Pills