Some years ago, I was a resident in a halfway house for “nutbags”, people with emotional problems real or imagined, who were warehoused to keep them out of everyone else’s way.  Most of these people spent 90% of their time sleeping.  I swore that I wouldn’t be like them, but I was young and stupid.  Over time, what was happening has become apparent.  These people had nothing, no chance of a real life with friends and keys.  Looking at the world of which they could never be a part was too painful, so they slept.

I swore that I would never be like them, but here I am.  I never considered that some people are not wanted around, I never thought that those who claim to be the closest are those who hit the hardest.  So I sleep, hoping for a nice dream somewhere between the nightmares.  Miranda stands her watch over me, sometimes Ariel will offer a cuddle, Winston will eat my fingers.  What more is there that they can do?  They are cats, they are not empowered to effect change in a human world.

So, I sleep.  I dread opening my eyes to the dismal room around me, and when I do, I shut them tight again.  I long for the day when I will not open my eyes, but it is too long in coming.  Why could I have not died in the auto accident thirty years ago?  Why could I not have died in surgery in 1976?  I can’t even do anything myself; I’ve failed at everything so far, why should I believe that I would not fail at suicide, and be left totally screwed up and unable to try again?

So I sleep.