Okay, I'm writing again because something a new friend wrote inspired me. It gave me just enough focus to put these ideas together, so bear with me... it's new.
I fear for my life. Not from anything big, ominous, or even real, but from myself. I'm not suicidal, and I rather enjoy living, which is the source of my fear, but in the most simplistically removed mental states, my fighting will to live slips right through my grasp.
Sleep deprivation, intoxication, or a mild illness. Not that it makes me want to die so much, I just feel like if I had to fight very hard to stay alive, I wouldn't. Is this laziness? Is this a subconscious defiance to my years of "kill or be killed" living? Or am I sick in the head? My own awareness of this condition makes me feel as if there is hope for me to recover from it, but I don't worry too much. I do still have priorities. House is on fire? I'll get the kids out before I go back to bed.
Ken
