PRISONER EXPRESS

My personal "middle of the night" is not twelve am. That's too close to normal waking hours; when life is still a fresh memory that provides security and assurance that I have lived and loved.

No, my middle of the night is closer to the three o'clock hour. The darkest part of the night when enough time has passed by those memories of the previous day aren't as crisp and clear. A time where I begin to question the factualness of those memories. The time when morning is still so far off that it can seem not so much of a surety, but only a slight possibility. That time of deepest darkness that fills me with hopelessness and I despair a return to life.

There are times when that "middle of the night" time lasts for days and weeks at a stretch. When the struggle to continue this existence seems nothing more than an exercise in futility.

These are times when I consider, seriously consider, the prospect of releasing myself into that darkness, whatever it may hold in store for me. It may even be the uncertainty of it that draws me closer. My fear, though, is that I'll only meet more of the same "nothingness" my life is already composed of. That I'd be giving up one meaningless existence for another.

So, I let those hours until dawn pass while I contemplate my options and the prospects each holds for a better, more fulfilling existence or life. When the morning does appear, as I knew it must, the bleakness of those dark hours becomes less real and not so frightening. The sun rises in the east, and with is my hopes for something more meaningful, something more.

So far my "middle of the nights" haven't lasted so long that I wasn't able to endure. As their frequency and duration continue to increase. I'm left to wonder how much longer I can resist the pull of those dark possibilities.