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Sleepless
Sleepless

Sleepless

AndraaknasHendrix Cuevas
1 Review

I can’t even describe how many people know how it feels to go sleepless. I know perfectly well, you know, sitting up on my bed, taking in the day’s worth of drama, screaming, and lost causes. As I write this, on the day of August 17, 2018, I have already had a few lost causes due to my sleeplessness. One was to wake up at 5:00 in the morning to get ready for school. I woke up at 6:10 and had to rush out of the house. I planned to ask my friend to help me with my math homework in my free hour at school. I left him alone because the look in his eyes told me to leave him alone. Finally, I wanted to write a poem, but I’m writing this instead.

I contribute all of this to my sleeplessness, my insanity, my depression.

Maybe my sleeplessness is all due to the thoughts in my head, like “Do we even have a god?” and “What do our parents, our government, and our friends lie to us about?”

That last one gets me hard. What do our parents lie to us about? My parents are the most honest people I know, but my REAL mom, my biological one, is a very big liar. She was the one that scarred me for life, with what she did to both my sister and me, as well as my dad. I followed in her footsteps, she was my role model, my mom.

And she screwed that up. Royally.

“What does our government lie to us about?” Is a kinda easy one. Our government lies to us about a lot. The whole “alien coverup” thing I think is a lie. I mean, what advanced race would come to a planet filled with self-destructive monsters(Not ALL of us are destructive monsters)? The government also lies to us about our immigration situation and foreign affairs, but that’s for another day, in another time.

The last one doesn’t bother me that much. Friends lie to each other all the time, about personal stuff and social things, so yeah, doesn’t bother me.

But then I am stricken with this deep, dark, and diming darkness within all my mind body and soul, that kills me so slowly and painfully, that keeps me up. This flurry of emotion combatting me wears out my energy for all I must live for in life, quicker and harsher blows than an expert boxer. I have no more spark in me; my living aura runs evermore dry than lands of sand, with each grain of my existence blowing away. Whoever said live life to the fullest is a fool – Who said I had to live life? Why repeat the same flurry of hate, gloom, disgust, and contempt all over in a loop? How can people live like this? Humanity is a virus that we are the host to, killing ourselves and each other – one by one, we fall. It is just that we can’t keep ourselves out of the business of repopulating one another so that not only do we ever fall extinct, but we make more of ourselves to suffer the same fate of us all, and I am expected to also partake in this little charade of purpose. Let there be one who will decide to drop the bombs on humanity and change their course of life forevermore. Will that person ever exist in my timeline though? More than likely, no, since I am not fortunate enough with anything else in life so why should I be spare my total annihilation from someone an ocean away? Why am I still living this paradoxical hell?

That is the thought that truly keeps me up, keeps me listening to poetry and piano, keeping me from asking out the girl of my dreams, keeping me from doing the right thing, because what’s the point? What is the point to all of it? If we just keep on repeating the cycle of death and destruction, then WHAT IS THE POINT? What is the fucking point if it’s only going to spread more hate and hurt, more torment, more self-destruction?

Do we have a god? Even if so, why doesn’t he look at me and how I am broken and torn and submerged in darkness and pull me out? It is because God is our creation – a proof of concept that we put into when we can't explain the unexplainable into our lives, seeing how we are the kind to be the most dramatic being on this earth. Let’s not mention the faults of god and the contradictions and controversy we’ve made thanks to this God who never really shines in the spotlight because he is nothing but thoughts of us feeble beings dipping ourselves into more self-manipulation and lies against us.

I sit here with enough spite to drive my hate towards humanity against a brick wall and to torture it. It is making me sick, spreading its infection to me and I am just ill. I lie here in wait for something – anything, rather – to destroy, to execute, to annihilate, to obliterate its meaning in hope of redemption of my soul, yet it would prove itself futile since I know for the solid truth I cannot be saved. It would be best to put me down for the rabid dog that I am will eventually end up hurting not only someone else but also myself in any and every shape or form. Why must I be cursed to live like this? Why can I not go back and undo everything I wish to do, knowing all I know up to now and make life better for everyone?

This is why I can’t sleep, why I am so antisocial, why I can’t muster up the courage to hug the person I love, knowing that they don’t love me. The question I keep on asking myself is “What’s the point?” It’s what keeps me up at night, what keeps me from waking up earlier, to not write poems. Maybe the point is to survive, like wild animals. I think of my family and friends when the mornings roll around, and what I mean to them, what I want them to think about me. Not as the depressed 300-pound behemoth, but as a friendly giant, who has his bad times, but pulls through and keeps on going.

But now I’m done with the facade. I’m done fucking around. I’m being myself once again. Help me, Please. I’m on the verge of collapse like an old concrete bridge barely holding out after years of wear and tear, my metal support rods showing, grass and leaves crawling over me, my paint peeling away. Like a red giant star, ready to explode in a cloud of anger and energy, only to be followed by a husk of myself, floating through space eternally.

Please help. Help me fix this. Please.

Author Notes: This is my first story, so good luck, me, am I right?

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About The Author
Andraaknas
Hendrix Cuevas
About This Story
Audience
12+
Posted
10 Sep, 2018
Words
1,156
Read Time
5 mins
Rating
Views
385

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