Insomnia does strange things to you.
Awake at one in the morning. I've been lying there for over two hours and it's going to be at least another hour before I fall asleep. It's not quite dark and it's not quite silent.
Even though I'm too tired to move, I'm wide awake. My eyes wide open. Staring at everything and nothing.
I do a lot of thinking. I think about chaos. I think about the people I've met and the things I've always wanted to say to them. I think about sex and how much I hate it. I think about loneliness.
I do a lot of writing. About hatred. About the end of the world. About love. All of it forgotten by the following morning. I try to hold on to it, but it's always gone.
I do a lot of remembering.
I think about the very, very small scars on my arms. I think about how much blood I was able to draw using a piece of broken glass, the lattice of scratches turning my skin into a bloody mess. That's invisible now. No scars.
I think about the terrible secret, the one I discovered at the age of twelve, the one that I know I remember but it slips away from me every time I try to see it. I think about the one time I was able to remember, when I collapsed, overwhelmed with grief, crying for the first time in months.
I think about my past girlfriends and what I've done to them. I think about Danica. I think about the people who are vulnerable to me. I blame myself for everything. Part of me still thinks I'm a monster.
I think about being hurt. I don't enjoy it but I'm still driven towards it.
I think about going downstairs. I'm hungry. Maybe something to drink will help me sleep. No. There are knives downstairs. And no one around. If I go downstairs I'm going to carve myself up.
I stare at the clock. 1:36. The past fourteen minutes have taken a very, very long time to pass.
I think about going downstairs.
If I go downstairs in this state, I'm going to kill myself.
I think about going downstairs anyway.
My lip trembles.
It spreads. My jaw. My neck. My whole head, shaking. It grows.
No.
No.
I haven't had spasms in the night for over a year.
I fold my arms over my chest. They begin to tremble. It spreads to my hands. I raise one arm and try to intensify it, isolate it. Gradually my head stops, my left arm stops. My right hand thrashes furiously, fingers clenched, muscles twisted. Then... I let it go.
It leaves me.
I relax for a second. It hovers over me, a twisting, snarling blob of darkness. Then it returns, strangling me, smothering my head. I can't breathe, I can't think. I choke out what sounds uncomfortably like a death rattle.
Then it's over.
I look toward the clock. 7:42. Before my eyes close again I smile.
I made it.
6 comments:
you are the silence that is incomparable
and the idea whose remembrance is frequent
you are the voice whose sound is manifold
and the word whose appearance is multiple
you are the utterance of your name
why, those who hate you, love you
and they hate those you love you?
those who deny you, confess you
and those you confess you, deny you
for you are knowledge and ignorance
remembering and dismembering
fear and strength
shameless and ashamed
power and compassion
war and peace
honor and humility
disgraced, and the great... nine
You make me sound like a giant.
I'm nothing special. Just a special nothing.
You are special.
You are nothing.
You are male.
You are female.
You are great.
You are small.
You are one.
You are many.
You are divine.
These are all true, Nine.
No, this is not a dream, it's all real. Perhaps not entirely manifest, but real nonetheless.
Wow, you have such a vivid imagination, a gift for words, and in the shattering you are both cursed and blessed. You can see from more than one perspective. Most people will never have that experience. It's both terrible and awesome. Such... potential.
And you're so young! You're, what, sixteen? I was twice your age before I became as aware of myself as you are now. I couldn't say one is better than the other - both have their prices and payoffs. You have more time, I had more agency. Feh, it could go either way - suffering sucks, whenever it's experienced.
i am the one whom you have scattered
and you have gathered me together
Twice my age? That's something of a relief... so far I'm the oldest we've met with these experiences. Two others I've met, online (sadly), both a bit younger than me. One's a firm friend, the other... gone. Just gone. I'm the only male, as well. In a bloodline traditionally passed from mother to daughter that's usually significant.
But... "Whatever you do, do it with humility. Your future self will thank you." Skeleton said that. And we listen to Skeleton. So I hope you'll forgive me if I'm a bit... apprehensive, about opening myself up in this way.
That said... I am aware of my potential. And we are young. And we have dreamed of a mentor...
I don't know. I still can't say I fully trust you. You understand why, of course.
But... thank you. This could be the start of something beyond words.
well, i don't know if i'm the mentor you seek. i am deeply flawed, i make mistakes, and you don't know me. besides, only you would know what's best for you. if you are apprehensive, then that is right for you at this time. remember the moth? the moth has to take its time to work its way out; prying open the cocoon from the outside will leave the moth without enough strength to survive. so open up at your own pace. i'm in no hurry.
what i can do is witness, reflect what i see, and share stories.
"Whatever you do, do it with humility. Your future self will thank you." Skeleton said that? Skeleton is wiser than I realized.
anyways, i see you, and like a mirror i see in you a bit of myself. i can't help but extend my hand. i was two, now i am one. he died, an act of sacrifice, so that i could live. that's a bit of a burden. why do the better ones do such things? *jane grumbles*
the therapists (you have one, yes?) will say that the only way is unification, but there are other choices. you might want to read the story of Robert Oxnam. He was Eleven, at least, and now he is Three. in his book, he says that Three works extremely well for him, that there is value in that triptych. who are we to argue?
enjoy the new year, because the last one really sucked rocks.
Amen to that.
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