Category : Blogs
Sub Category : Miscellaneous
The ceiling looked back at her forlornly. The mute concern almost dripping down from the peeling paint. She knew exactly how many cracks were in the ceiling and the wall towards her head. The mattress imprinting her so deeply it felt like an embrace now. She could jokingly assume she wasn’t in bed alone. She didn’t mind sleeping alone. She really didn’t. What she did mind was not being able to sleep at all.
She checked her phone.
3:30 am stared back at her blatantly, almost accusingly for staying awake. But what could she do? Her mind didn’t seem to quiet down. Thoughts running rampant like a stampede of wildebeest about to run over. No, she didn’t want to think about it again. Some memories were traumatizing. Some gave her dilemmas, making her wonder what happened on the page that wasn’t written. Some images were embedded into the back of her mind the same way bright lights floated around her vision; ever-present and unrelenting. She hoped they’d stop. Running her hand through her long, messy hair, she sighed for the ninth time that night. She thought of the last time she brushed her teeth, almost four hours ago. She tried to get her body to succumb to sleep without thinking of anything, but she couldn’t.
She checked her phone.
3:45 am stared back at her in pity. She doubted anyone could pity her more than herself; setting off another chain reaction of toxic thoughts. She moaned in angst, wishing that she could fall asleep, just once. She swear she won’t complain about anything else in the world. She swear. But she knew it wouldn’t happen. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until the sun joined the choir that sang of her insomnia.
She blamed her depression.
..........
The street behind the bar permanently smelled of puke and avoidable consequences. He found it funny that many people who snuck out to the back thought they were the only ones doing it; running into the other patrons and being shocked about it. He found it funny but at the same time, being just a part of the shadow, the background, the ignored, he found a vestige of sadness too. What he did mind was doing it every night.
He checked his watch.
3:45 am stared back at him in disappointment; almost like the way his mother sounded on the phone three weeks ago. He hadn’t talked to her since then. A pseudo disownment having taken place when he told her his plans and she told him her opinion on it. Being a disc jockey for a local club wasn’t his long-term plan but it was the only possible way to his final goal. Morning classes were now a thing of constant misery, sitting through an hour of dreary lessons as his mind tried in vain to stay awake. His lips twisted into a frown after the second pull on his slightly illegal cigarette, hating the pain of forcing himself to stay awake. The worst part, he realised, stepping aside to let another drunken couple pass him by stumbling out of the back door of the club, was that even when he did find time to sleep he couldn’t.
He checked his watch.
4:00 am stared back at him as a reminder of his self-imposed responsibilities. He was supposed to start his second set by now but he knew his audience was too drunk to notice him being slightly late. He doubted they’d even remember him halfway into their night. If he could have just one day to himself, just to sleep and recuperate, he promised he wouldn’t complain about anything. He swear he’ll even try and talk to his mother again.
He blamed his work.
..........
Try as she might, every little sound down the hallway from her hotel room made her shift her position. She wasn’t exactly scared of the dark per se, enjoying moments of silence while in solitude but the darkness did not exactly help her sleep either. It wasn't a new experience for her; being alone in another hotel room in a place without her mother and son across the hallway. This did not help her one bit. What she did mind was the paranoia.
She checked her clock.
4:00 am blinked back at her as if trying to flash a lullaby to get her to sleep. She looked to the right, towards the nightstand; noted the empty container that once housed her medications. She hadn’t taken them in a week now. Never finding enough time to go to the clinic during working hours, mistakenly trusting her own mental resolve to help her get through. It wasn’t working as she started to sob violently. A hint of feet shuffling past her door making her clasp her hand on her mouth. She knew not where this paranoia stemmed from, the constant anxiety that pulled her apart by the seams, thread by darned thread. She had tried playing music but it didn’t seem to work. Instead gave her voices in the corners of her room with faces to accompany them. She tried to recite a mantra to help her sleep but she couldn’t.
She checked her clock.
5:30 am blinked back, ignorant of the turmoil in her mind that knew no rhythm or rhyme. She had work in two and a half hours, which meant she had to be ready and out the door by seven am to beat the rush hour traffic. A door that slammed down the hallway made her gasp, her heart nearly leaping right out of her chest and this gave her an imagery that she could not brush away.
She blamed her ADHD.
..........
The nights were not their enemy, no. They sought refuge from the world during the few moments between the night and the dawn. Sometimes the world seemed to be overwhelming, overpowering, pulling to shreds the resolve they might have had when they stepped out their front door. When they walk into the hours that framed the moon’s moments, they tend to find awakening when the world expects to sleep.
They check the time.
5:30 am stares back angrily, making their bloodshot eyes sting both by the brightness and the regret of being awake. Steps they take to sail into the void of sleep seems to untie themselves, scuttling their boats even before the wind fills their sails. Some of the time they don’t know what to do, while the rest of the time they try to do things that don’t work yet, in the end, they don’t have much of a choice. They’re the ones that ride shotgun to grab late-night meals, the ones that leave with the bouncers, the ones that sit on rooftops counting stars through hazy skies. They’re the ones that end up reading books and dreaming while awake, the ones that watch episode after episode of God-knows-what on TV without taking a moment’s break. They’re the ones that sit in front of bright screens and tap away their lives, making beautiful things they want to share with the world but they couldn’t.
They blamed themselves.
..........
They check the time.
8:00 am beckons them back into the world before they could even manage to catch a few winks. They do the math for how much time they have left of the day, how long their eyelids would stay open like the curtains that bring in the harsh sunlight. They breathe slowly, trying to get into a rhythm that could lull them to sleep but they couldn’t. Rolling out of bed with dread, they trudge to the dirty mirror in their dimly lit bathrooms.
They stare back at themselves. Tired of the angst they put themselves through. Tired of the beauty of sleep only being an option when the sun went down. Tired of only getting time for themselves when all they needed was a longer night. They rub their chins and then knuckle the sleep out of their eyes, feeling the truth of feeling despair emotions and blank pages of thoughts. They look into their eyes and promise themselves to try again, to try harder, to take better care of themselves. And today, just maybe, they might listen to their own advice.
