Four AM Breakdown
Somewhere it's 4 am. Chris reaches for the light and knocks the phone charging on the shelf above him onto his head, nearly taking out his eye. Technology will kill us all, one way or another. He flicks the lamp on and the bulb takes a minute to warm up. Suddenly his room is bathed in a cool blue fluorescent daylight. It's supposed to keep his SAD at bay but in the wee small hours of the morning he's looking to fend off the maelstrom in his head, the anxiety-making lists and concerns, plummeting his brain into a deep well of grief and anger, self doubt and relentless repetition. For months he's been in this cycle of sleep, insomnia, sleep, insomnia. In the early days he'd roll with it. Read, masturbate, make a sandwich. Maybe cereal, mug of tea. He would write, brief notes, trying to remember the anxiety dream that would run on an endless loop, thinking that naming it would end it. Then he thought maybe he was creating a deeper imprint, detailing the horror of it al...