In the trenches of insomnia there is a place between wake and sleep, where the world around me seems like some sort of slow-playing movie that never reaches the end of its reel. Conversations and actions become removed; I hear my voice, register the movement of my body, yet they don't quite feel like my own.
Day 1 is long and tedious. By Day 3, a fog of delirium has settled over my every thought. It is then that the daily pleasures of living begin to lose their appeal. A hot shower, a palatable glass of wine, a flirtatious smile in my direction - and all I can think about is sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep.
I spend countless hours lying in bed, determined to only need to close my eyes should sleep so graciously arrive. I read. I watch television. I turn the light off and marinate in the darkness. I turn the light back on. I read. I watch television. I check Facebook. No, this definitely won't help. I sign out of Facebook.
And I repeat. And repeat. And soon I realize morning is almost here, even without having to open my eyes. The crickets go silent, the air cools ever so slightly, and then the countdown begins. Now I know my time is limited. If I can sleep for just a few hours, I will feel so much better. I just need to lie here... still and silent... like I already am, already have been... for hours. Damn.
Soon dawn arrives, light gradually filling my room, and I sit up. Arising is unremarkable without the punctuation of sleep, without my alarm's glaring announcement of a new morning; the day blends into night, which blends into day, and again and again.
And in this crevice, I wait.
No comments:
Post a Comment