My Morning Mania

I do not fear life, nor death for that matter. But maybe that’s just my own stupid arrogance. After all, I am yet to find myself in the unenviable position of having to stare it down directly in the face. Gazing deeply into the boundless dark void that lies behind it’s cold and callous raven black eyes.

depression, anxiety, fear

No, it’s early mornings that I have a true love-hate relationship with. Whether it be their bright sunny disposition or mournful misty moods both have proved to be a wonderful elixir for phrase and prose. It’s that vertigo state in between sleep and wake, as a friend wrote.

That’s the time I feel most raw and vulnerable. No mantras serve to prop up my fragile ego then. Bleeding and bare, it’s quick to remind me that all the dreams I hold so dear are just a wishing well of fanciful ideas and hopes. And hope I do. 

depression, anxiety, fear

But what of this state? I have tried explaining it to others but few, if any, know of what I speak. Save for Nicholas Landry that is, the author of the poem herein. He seems to know and yet perhaps he is speaking of something entirely different. I cannot recall in all of our conversations of life and death as to whether or not we have touched on this. 

Yes, the vertigo state between sleep and wake where my demons arise, no longer hiding deep within, no fictive disguise. They tell it to me straight, or at least that’s what they would have me believe. “You can’t do this.” “Who the hell do you think you are anyway?” They cut to the quick, that’s sure enough. “You’ve failed so many times before, you’re sure to fail again.” 

depression, anxiety, fear

Perhaps they revel in the notion of defeating and disheartening simple souls such as I. Ascribing to them form and feeling, they may be as fleeting as the very morning they arrive. For once awake and aware, they quickly disappear, falling back on themselves. Retreating to the netherworlds whereupon they reside. I arise and touch my feet to the floor and they, well they are no more. 

My confidence sores once again. I have belief, I have the determination that this time will be different. I am not the sum of my past experiences. It may seem so but I know that I am so much more. I will not allow the past to be the architect of my future.

depression, anxiety, fear

And whereas my time left on earth may be shorter than it once was, in truth, I never really knew how long it would be. One misstep, one single misfortune, and this prose may not have seen the light of day.

As for death, it will just have to wait. I have much to do. It may be long in the game but the fourth quarter has just been whistled in and sure as hell, I am going to give it my best shot. 

depression, anxiety, fear

In the end, I know that my demons will give it their best go as well. We are both hungry for victory, yet one of us is surely destined for defeat. I know the score, I can picture the finish line, as triumphant as it will be once crossed. Indeed, Nick, we shall see what sleep has wrought when morning once again comes. 

depression, anxiety, fear

Vertigo

That vertigoic state; between the world of sleep and wake
Before the day has taken hold, that is the time, or so I’m told
The time our souls will make amends, to the dearest departed, “best of friends”
When memories come flooding back, our minds will fold, bend and crack
Memories, once forgotten, of broken hearts, dead and rotten
What once was true, now all but gone, with nothing left to carry on
But hearts will mend, and time will heal, until there’s no more hurt to feel
That’s when, I know, I’ll sleep again, these dreams of you will come to end
But that vertigoic state; between the world of sleep and wake
Will still bring me back to you, and all the things that once were true
Memories of broken hearts, lies, deception, ended starts
Love is not an easy thing, injecting poison with a sting
Haunting all your thoughts and dreams, Killing you, or so it seems
Awake you’d never think it twice, but vertigo is its true vice
A time when you cannot escape, that’s when it comes to take its shape
Solace is its best of friend, it will haunt you until the end
In that vertigoic state; between the world of sleep and wake
Where no one will be to hold your hand, a time when you will not understand
That broken hearts will never heal, there will always be a hurt to feel
Take comfort in the day ahead, a place these memories dare not to tread
That happiness will find a way, embracing you within the day
Foul memories are cast aside, awake your mind can safely hide
Away from hurt, the guilt and shame, where it doesn’t have to play this game
Dreading night, what sleep has wrought, When morning comes, again you’re caught
In that vertigoic state; between the world of sleep and wake

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7 thoughts on “My Morning Mania

  1. Wow….I don’t know what to say. I love mornings…the earlier the better. Peaceful…comfy….reflective….I think you’re over-analyzing this just a tad….but that is just mine humble opinion.

  2. I love the imagery that you used for this post. As for mornings, I’m not much of a morning person as much I’d love to be.

  3. Mornings used to be a lot easier when I was still living back in the tropical country. Now, I live in Michigan where everything is bleak and gloomy during the winter.

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