![deep_red_bells: [Text] Little girl lost deep_red_bells: ([Text] Little girl lost)](https://v2.dreamwidth.org/7371607/1157672)
I need some sleep.
I can’t go on like this.
I try counting sheep,
But there’s one I always miss.
Everyone says I’m getting down too low
Everyone says: "You just gotta let it go"
"You just gotta let it go"
I just gotta let it go
It's always worse on bad days.
It's not an itch, not anymore. The itch you could deal with. There's more than one way to scratch a itch, and it might come back, and it can be so very annoying, but it can be managed.
The itch became a twitching, and then a tremor. As though electricity is pumping through your limbs. You can't be still. You certainly can't sleep. You pace, you wander. You try, desperately, to occupy your hands, because trying to take your mind off of it just isn't enough.
Being where you are helps, the slightest bit, but it does help. A freezing temperature is easier to resist than the warmer nights of Nevada, and of home. The temptation lessens and eases to the point where you're no longer climbing the walls.
Except on a bad day. It's always so much worse on the bad days. The house seems to shrink, and there's no way to get away from it. Too much inside, too much that you're so used to channeling into the hunt and the kill. You can't burn it off. You haven't learned another way how.
You realize what the hell of it is, when you curl up in front of the weapons cabinet and occupy your hands by toying with a sharp tipped, smooth handled wooden stake. If you'd waited just a few weeks, you would've had a reason. A good reason. An unborn baby to protect. It could've been a reason, instead of the only thing left keeping you behind the front door and out of the fray waiting on the other side. Instead of something you would resent if you weren’t so terrified of losing it. It would've been easier, because you might've still felt helpless and useless...
...but you certainly wouldn't feel like such a coward.
You need to let it go.
You just can't yet.