Breaking Point

Isolation. Locking myself away from the world when really all I want to do is lock myself away from myself, from the ceaseless, unrelenting awareness of being. 

My mind never stops turning over – running through conversations, events, memories, resentments, choices, decisions to be made, unfinished business, things to done, bills to be paid, money to made, emotions, reactions, sensitivities and insecurities. It NEVER ends! 

Even when I sleep, my dreams are ugly collages of life and its alternate branches. No longer can music or hypnosis apps keep out the relentless machine of consciousness. 

I am so tired. I am so tired of the inner monologue running at me with knives, and I no longer care that it might be dissolving my sanity. I am fast approaching a frenetic catatonia, as each day I lose more and more of what little serenity I had grappled for myself in the last three years. 

I cannot switch off, and this unrelenting consciousness is breaking me. Worse still, with the knowledge of sobriety that I now have, there is no salvation in the miasma of pills and powders that were such powerful disconnectors when I needed them to be. No alcoholic balm to drown in. No merciful lines to kill my heart’s frantic anguish. 

Just the silence of solitude, and deafening roar of being. 

It’s killing me.

© Dave Luis 2015. All Rights Reserved.


  1. Dave, your writing is so powerful, entrenched in the depths of being…you. I have no advice, all I have is a virtual hug and my own memories of what once was the darkest period of my life, a blog written, but yet to be published.

    1. Thank you. Writing out these feelings are a way to feel them in a controlled way, I guess. No threat of being overwhelmed by them.

  2. I can empathise with everything you write. It is exhausting to keep going day after day getting through tasks that seem so effortless for others. But for those of us whose brains never sleep the options are endless. Writing is a big outlet for me and your writing is superb. Hang in there.

  3. Dave, I so get this, and the unrelenting agony of it. For me I’ve realised that it was less of a “it’s killing me” than a I’m overwhelmingly suddenly alive for the first time in my life – all the nerve endings that I’d dulled, cut off, medicates and lobotomised started functioning again. And once I realised that and became accustomed to it I learned how to cottonwool myself in some situations while allowing myself to feel in others. The most helpful thing I did was to, slowly, learn how to take care of myself, treat myself like a person who had been incarcerated for decades who was now released, and to thus slowly reintroduce myself to the world. Small little things like limiting my social interaction to meeting close friends in familiar places, sitting in the same familiar seat at the same familiar restaurant, ordering the same familiar meal, like a Sheldon Cooper who needs familiarity and sameness and ritual to survive. And that is the key, I think: ritual. Familiar, same rituals that keep me glued together while I build the strength and serenity to handle what I cannot control. And to do this and keep doing these self-nurturing rituals until everything becomes self-nurturing and the elements that are out of my control become not things that threaten me, but things that affirm how bulletproof I’ve slowly become.

    1. You are so right about this coming back to life. It seems like a pendulum – from the depths of my addiction’s total emotional disconnect and apathy towards everything that wasn’t the next fix, to this absolute awareness of every moment, every human being I am connected to, every task to be done, all the tomorrows and the duties and responsibilities they require…

  4. Your writing is hauntingly beautiful! Writing has always been a way of healing for me too and some of my best pieces came out of total despair.Thanks for sharing. ..

  5. dude I think I know how you feel. I’m an over thinker and you might be one too. Some people would say: “you need Jesus” but I think you need to walk in the forest.
    I gave up the rat race about a year ago. I appreciate what I have and spend time with family and nature.
    Hope this helps.

  6. You have put into words how I feel every day. I have no advice for you that will make it any better either. Right now I am listening to music and for the first time in a very long time I feel a little calmer. I hope that you can find some peace this evening and get some sleep.

    1. The beach walks did me some good, I feel better for now. Glad you have also found some solace. I think I am coming to grips with the fact serenity will never be a constant; life is too busy, to frenetic, too ALIVE for prolonged stillness. But it is always something to move towards.

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