Insomnia
10:30 p.m. Heavy eyelids slowly closing, a reassuring lethargy gets hold of the body, tired after training. A comforting fog hugs the brain, readily shutting down consciousness to make space for confused fantastic stories.
11:30 p.m. An itch makes me twirl twice, a sudden jolt shakes the leg, a noise outside catches my attention. Comfort slips away as I lie in the twin sized bed; misleadingly labeled X.L. to convince us that’s big enough.
12:00 a.m. Nothing comforting about this darkness, my shut eyelids tremble and the sleepy retinas ache for light. A muffed noise of remote cars perturbs the air near the window. I shift my body by 90 degrees, think of dreams, dream of things, let go of myself, take deep breaths. The itch again shakes my leg. I shift again by 90 degrees.
1:00 a.m. Sleep eludes me. There’s no waking up in five hours for training, I think as I turn off the alarm, defeated. Anxiety creeps in, tiptoeing her way into an obnubilated mind. The rhythmic pounding of my heart upsets the mattress, the tick-tock of an imaginary clock. Tears of frustration flood the cheeks; the mind yearns for sharpness while a tired reflex of a streetlight draws a hypnotic pattern on the faraway desk. An atavistic thirst seizes the throat, the itch works its way up to the back and takes over an unreachable spot, safely guarded by the left scapula. A convulsive cough dictates awareness: There’s no sleeping right now.
1:30 a.m. I drag my body across the empty four-bedroom flat. The oddly silent surroundings stir up childish fears and the slow dancing of a spider casts a shadow on reality. The world reduces to a few breaths, the night mocks me with its silence. The false sense of safety crumbles and suffocates me—staring immobile at the edge of sanity. Eyes wide open longing for light, rationality rushes like a flooded river impinging on the fragile walls of an artificial dig. Rebellious air escapes me, lungs contract, the cough metamorphoses into sobs as the body slowly loses control. Thwarted, I find my way back to bed.
2:00 a.m. A switched off light casts a shadow that traps me underneath a lead cover. The linen sticks to my skin and the temperature rises to unbearable levels. The silken swish of the A.C. grows to an insufferable, menacing whisper. Nails scratch the body craving peace, as skin slowly surrenders to the attack. Movement becomes impossible; the hermetically shut eyes fear invisible motion, while the ears deceive me, promising vengeful nightmares. I turn on the bedside lamp as a thin quilt of sweat interposes between the skin and the shirt. The spider dances convulsively while the retreating darkness smiles at me. Every eerie noise threatens my being; primordial fears take hold as the last strain of consciousness is lost—falling beyond the edge of sanity. The hum of the fridge rises to an undefeatable peril, and an unsettling energy resonates impossibly with the worn-out limbs. Swirls of words get lost in the pillow, sequences of letters devoid of meaning stain indelibly the bed as the fictitious ink diffuses in the wasted tears—crawling slowly back to the summit of sanity. I turn off the light, darkness slides on.
2:30 a.m. The whisper ceases speaking as the swish reacquires its innocuous nature. The fridge, tired of the incessant hum, shuts the noise down. Air submits to the craving lungs and the letters find their way back into a language, thoughts reassemble in an orderly manner, and the pillow dries up. Nothing is left as a witness, but disturbing awareness. The darkness won’t confess its faults, shielded by the silence of the inanimate accessories. Rationality fails in its trial against reality.
3:00 a.m. Pleasantly sitting at the edge of the bed I stare at the closed white door, that softly reflects some long-lost remembrance of light. The night went back to its inanimate nature, and the nonexistent alarm stopped pounding. Rationality squeezes its way in, while the spider dances to one last song—turning my back on the edge of sanity.
3:30 a.m. I slowly slip in the welcoming linen; unconsciousness hugs me, and a restful paralysis gets hold of my now laying body. Silence winks at me and I find comfort in the same absence that was the cause of panic. A reassuring unreality floods the emptiness; the eyelids greet darkness as an old friend and succumb to sleep as the world slips away.
6:30 a.m. My eyes suddenly thrust open. It is now acceptable to wake up, as life slowly awakes. Grey timid light salutes me from the window, and shivers run down through my body as my brain gains control.
I yield to the promise of the sun yet to rise.
It’s finally morning.