Ever took a minute of your precious time to think of what it means to be living a nightmare? If what I’m about to write now is how you feel about nightmare, then we must be sharing the same lonesome dictionary.
Sitting in my weakly-lit bedroom, laying in bed with my earphones right stuck into my ears, as I’m wondering about how I’m going to survive the night from the dozens of thoughts I’m unravelling in mind.
Thinking is hard, wondering is even more dangerous. And ugh, how I wish I had a smoke now, to preoccupy my wicked mind with one thought only: myself burning my healthy-seeming lungs out.
In the dark world of my mind now, my neurons are sensing pain, crying out for help from the thousands of intertwining thoughts, and with my ears attached to my music, making it worse for my mind to relax. Music is a wonder, yeah? Incentivizes your mind to make up stories that are so hard to be real.
And as the violin is playing to my ears, my mind is revealing its marvellous creation of the saddest stories one can hear of. A story baked with my special ingredients of sad memories that I’d never dare to speak of during daylight. Thank goodness! I have a God that granted me with my gifted, grieving mind of my own, to make my life a living hell.
Sometimes I wonder whether this all shows how weak my faith is that drove me to think that, almost all the time, hell has broken loose upon me. And where do I go with that mind of mine unleashing its own demons.
I can now hear the drums slowly banging, and jazz music playing. This goes out to my demons, celebrating their victory over my fragile state of mind.
Light up a cigarette for my dimmed-lit brain. Pray to your God that I survive this pain.
The Adventures of Tintin 