Early Wakefulness and Unspoken Codes

I woke up too early today. Wide awake, but without a reason I could name.
There’s a shakiness in me. A kind of edge.
Not panic exactly—more like a low hum of unease.
Almost paranoid. Almost tender.

Medical bills keep showing up.
Each envelope feels like a warning, like a reason not to seek help.
I know I need to take care of myself.
I know I need to understand why we owe what we owe.
But most people don’t know how medical billing works.
How can you make informed decisions about your health and your finances
if you don’t even know what codes they’re using to define you?

It feels like a system designed to keep us in the dark.
Like bills are held back on purpose.
Like the language of care is written in a dialect we’re not meant to understand.

I find myself thinking about critical thinking.
About what we don’t have.
About what might be out there, just beyond the edge of what we know.

Did I make a mistake somewhere?
Can I shift my perception enough to meet the moment with clarity?

I’ve come a long way.
I remember asking so many questions—questions that didn’t fit the role I was given.
But I asked them anyway.
Because I wanted to understand the why behind the what.

Sometimes I worry I’m a liability.
Not because I mean harm, but because I ask too much.
Because I make people uncomfortable.
I don’t want to.
I don’t want anyone to feel exposed or uneasy because of me.

I don’t want to throw anyone under the bus.
I just don’t always know what’s okay to say.
I want to understand.
I want to be useful.
I want to be wise.

Is that so strange?

It feels like everything is a test.
What will you do when something happens?
What does that tell us?

Stay objective, they say.
But how do you stay objective when your heart is in the room?

Writing this down helps.
It doesn’t fix anything, but it makes the fog feel less lonely.