Help is Not What I Need.

Early Monday morning, I woke up from my bed, scared for a reason I can't remember. I happened to glance over to my alarm clock to see I've awoke 3 hours before I was supposed  to. This isn't the first time that this had happened. I have nightmares that haunt me all night long until I wake up, heart racing and my brain almost dead without thought. Most of the time, its a dream where I fall to my death, waking up to my legs jolting like they were prepared for the landing. Other times, its something more sinister. Robberies that ended in failure, murders of thousands, and family dying by my hand. Suicidal thoughts are present too. I guess that's why I fall most of the time since I'm probably too scared to pull a gun on myself. Its been years since I've had a good dream. I haven't put together a clever explanation to any of this. I'm not exactly depressed all the time, but it does appear at random intervals. Some days I feel cheerful, and some I'd rather find myself with a hole in my head, being dragged to a hospital morgue. I've been this way for a long time. I think its normal. The pills aren't. Medicine for the sick, but I don't feel ill. Ingesting the pills leaves me with terrible insomnia for hours on end during the week, hindering my thoughts and social skills. People say I'm drunk most of the time, but not one drop of a single spirit has touched my lips. I laugh but the jokes aren't funny. Comedy becomes more  of a dry, satire to me. People that I see about my dreams say that those are side affects. I guess affecting my entire life to the point of ending it all over a small pill by the hundreds in a insignificant orange bottle.
I lost my train of thought. Oh I know, I was talking about my dreams. I don't remember what this dream was about that woke me up three hours early. All I know is that my insomnia kept me from gaining three more hours, so I arose from my bed and acquired some more desirable clothing to wear.
I wear the usual graphic T-shirt and a pair or sweats. Performance socks even though I don't play sports. In the corner of my eye, I imagine a dark figure watching me as I dress. Staring intently at my body until a wave of nervousness hits my stomach, then it disappears, but I know its still there.
Just past it is my night stand with my medication, sitting in the middle. Neatly placed and orderly. The way I want my life to be, but I never seem to make it this way. I walk over and pop the top, shaking two out for the next eight hours. Without water, I save the saliva in my mouth and try to swallow them. They get stuck in my throat, but I wasn't choking. I hate this feeling. I get this feeling when I talk to people who don't understand, and I have to explain myself to the point I'm as easy to read as a children's book. Ignorance, but I don't expect everyone to know my problems. I don't share my life with everyone either. I'm not looking for attention from the masses nor doctors to give me more poison. Help is not what I need. Music is not what cures my ailments. Time does not heal my wounds. The mind lies to the gullible.
Playing tricks in a psychoactive way to make you think its all real. The pain you experience? Its just nerves sending signals to the mind. Fear? Just another form of the brain pumping toxins throughout your muscles. I've spent time to comprehend my body, but I shake like a loose bolt on a engine anyways. I haven't trained myself to not react and I don't plan on it. What's the point if the human body doesn't respond to the brain being a dictator? The body dies for being stupid. Ears to hear, but not for commands. Eyes to see, but only for the brain's satisfaction. A throat to talk with, but just another form of propaganda. Fingers to grab and feel, but never to touch what they want. Arms and legs to move about with ease, but topple over without a mindset to keep them in line.
Help is not what I need.
Medicine is not what fixes my brain.
Doctors talk, but words can only fix ten percent of my problem.
Depression talks louder than the doctors, but only in ways that are normal to me.
Sleep helps heal the impaired mind, but only if the dreams are blank.
A bed is a home and not just furniture.
A room is a world and not just a closed space.
Addictions keep the mind busy and pollute the way I act.
Friends are great to talk to, but only if they understood.
Conversations with people are worth more than a talk with a loaded weapon.
Help is not what I need.
Conversation is exactly what I want.