I need some sleep

I don't feel like working or writing or moving at all today.
I am thinking about a lot of things and nothing.
I am thinking about the way I am hiding, to protect other people and therefore denying the fact that I am not like they want to see me.

I am a coward and I am afraid of losing the privilege of a comfortable life.

But I have had my dose of discomfort in the years that passed.
I have been fighting with all kind of things and persons, I have been on the edge of losing all, I have played with my life like in a discreet Russian roulette I was the only one being aware of and I have shut a lot of doors behind me.

I'm paying that now. The doors I have closed cannot be opened anymore, they are doors made of a thick unbreakable glass making me face the chances I have burned every day. I see them, beyond the glass and I can't do anything, I can't turn the time back and try again.

Sometimes I ask myself if what I feel can be called regret, but I don't think so. It's just a silent pain, something you can't describe with words, the awareness that my life is not going to be forever.

Death scares me. No...the void scares me. The silence scares me. Leaving...scares me.

That's why I stay where I stay and do what I do. Because I am so fucking scared.

There have been people trying to convince me that death is nothing to be scared about. Other people told me it's useless to be scared about something you can't change.
But I have seen it. I have seen it on the face of people I loved, I have seen it take away the only person who counted for me. And it was scary, it was cold, it was lonely, excruciating, inevitable and terrible.

Today I didn't feel like writing, but I am doing it because writing is the only thing that saves me from losing my sanity when I am in this mood.

I dreamed of spiders last night. All over my body they were coming out from my skin...thousands of them. I was terrified. I woke up in sweat, my breathe out of control and I couldn't fall asleep anymore.

Today I didn't feel like writing, but now that I am doing it I feel like I would be drinking and slowly falling into the soft warm oblivion of alcohol. Writing is better, you won't be out of service for three days afterwards, only a little bit slow and anesthetized but I can cope with that.

I don't know what I have to believe in now. I look at my hand and the lines on my palm seem to change their length and direction. I am hallucinating. I would like to be able to hallucinate some more and feel your hand touching my hair again, like in the past. Still I can't understand why it stopped. That made me feel so much better.

The more I calm down, the less my head can produce words and sentences. This post will be over in a few lines.

I have been able to survive the crash for twenty years and, believe me, twenty years is a fucking lot of time.
I would like a period of twenty years of being carefree to start right now, but I am not allowed so much time, and I am too drenched in my own convictions to allow myself a blank mind and just enjoy.
I am a cunt, but that's the way I know myself.
The last thing I need right now is looking at me without recognizing what I see.
Wherever I go, I can at least be sure that Boris, that old jerk, will not let me down.

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NOTE OF THE AUTHOR: I want to sleep...like 3 days without waking up. What the fuck.