No RestPosted: September 2, 2015
The darkness has become my enemy
It’s not that I simply can’t sleep; it’s not only that. The creeping whispers come to me when I’m almost there, when I’m looking over the edge of oblivion. They come, and they stay. The fingers of aberrant thoughts twist and turn, writhing their way through the dry gray matter of my brain. They grasp at my synapses, leaving their greasy wet fingerprints on every facet of my being. Every part of myself is dirtied and broken.
I don’t remember anymore what it’s like to sleep peacefully, to sleep deeply, to lie restfully in my bed without disturbance. I don’t remember what it’s like to look in the mirror and see myself as I remember me, the snowy whites of my eyes glistening with health, the hair on my scalp mussed from sleep, sweet sleep. I don’t remember what it is to have pleasant dreams of castles in the sky.
I don’t remember.
I’m so tired.
I just want to sleep.
I can’t sleep with these horrible things prancing around in my head. I feel them push and pull, working their way inward until they find a quiet corner to set up shop and work on tricking me into believing that they’re my own thoughts. I rip out patches of my hair, scalp still attached, trying to distract them, trying to make them stop. But it’s too late for me. It’s too late to be free.
You should go to bed now, while you still can.