I cannot sleep.

I wonder sometimes if I sound the same after so many years. If I am still repeating the same loop of words over and over that I have been since I was old enough to realize that, on occasion, something wasn’t right inside me - the part of me that didn’t care if I died or had any contact whatsoever with humanity - that part. I don’t think I am. I don’t think I appear the same way at all. I know I definitely don’t feel the same way. I have to ask myself these questions sometimes, even though I believe that the answer to them is readily apparent. I don’t know what makes me ask, I just know that I do. Self-inventory, I guess.

God is good. Sleep is good, too.