You lie in bed,
blissfully ignorant,
while I tuck my knees under
my chin and sway
back and
forth.
True picture of disturbed.

My mind is racing,
except
I do not see the checkered flag reminding me that I have been here
before.
Each thought feels like it did the first time - the sting of each insult -
whiplash.
And there is no sign of a finish line.

This is the first time I have written in months.
Maybe this time it will help me change gears,
visualise that checkered flag,
see the finish line.

'You don't have to be so angry all the time.'
If your mind were doing
laps,
infinitely,
it would be exhausted,
you would be exhausted.

My lap times are slowing,
I am spending more time on the self-loathing nowadays.

In a race against myself, who will lose?
Tune in tomorrow night for the next episode of Insomnia.