Lately I've been having trouble going to bed. I find myself staying up late, even when Kathleen is settled. I'd say that I'm just enjoying the time to myself, except I'm not really. I'm not reading or writing or working on the projects that I look at all day unable to begin. I'm not doing something I care about or want to do. Instead I'm reading blogs online, searching randomly, endlessly, playing games online, mindlessly.
This is what I did for months in early 2008, because I couldn't go to bed, because as my mind and body began to shut down for the night, I let my guard down and the pain that I had pushed away just enough to be able to breathe through the course of the day came in and crushed me. I cried hard, though usually not too long. So I dreaded going to bed. Each night I'd put it off, midnight, 1, 3 . . ., but no matter when I went, grief still hit me hard.
It isn't the sadness that hits me when I turn out the light now, but I'm not sure what it is. I'm a bit restless at night, unable to settle, not really able to focus, and it reminds me of sitting in the darkness, searching, searching, searching for somebody like me. Somebody who understood why I was sitting here exhausted unable to go to bed.
So here I am again writing online, peeking to see if it's my turn in my Scrabble game, looking to see if any of my favorite blogs have been updated . . . and waiting to see what's going on, what it is that's nagging me and keeping me from wanting to shut down.