Leave me on a desserted island with nothing but a pen and a piece of paper; with those, I shall create myself another world.

Monday, January 17, 2011

Parasympathetic Wound

        Phase one: Struggle. For some bizzare reason, the me who used to drift asleep the second her head hits the pillow now wrestles to find a moment of rest. I became accustomed to my uninvited guest - insomnia - and so, I stayed up consuming my time in nothingness until my eye-lids felt like they were being forced shut by some superior power. Occasionally, I even pushed it until I got that piercing sting in the corners of my eye...you know, the one you get when you haven't slept for days? That's when I usually took the decision to finally go to bed, certain that I will face no troubles to go to this land of peace that I longed for so much. Nevertheless, the moment my head hit that plumped up pillow, I instantly become wide awake. It's like a rush of emotions, really, surging through my body. My eyes suddenly become unable to close, my breathing goes just three bits less smoother and I begin sensing bricks piling up on my chest - constricting my breathing even more. But that is only phase one of the daily episodes I've been seeing.
        Phase two: Hallucinations. As much as I loathed the previous struggles with breath and sleep, I loathed the next even more; for after hours of restlessness, I go semi-unconscious. Asleep yet awake, I begin to dream of things that I know are dreams..see things I know are not real and the thing is..my eyes are half-open. I can see my room shaded with those visions of mine - visions of myself being pushed against walls, bounced upon grounds, hitting the ceiling with my head and dropping down only to be bounced right back up. And...you get it. The cycle continues.
        Phase three: Paralysis. I'm never fully asleep to envision what I see as an actual dream and never awake enough to stop seeing what I see and feeling what I feel. It's like I've been caged in between bars of torture, I have the key out but I just don't have the strength to unlock that door.
        Phase four: I wake up. It always feels the same way. A headache so strong I could be suspected of a hangover. A body that feels battered after all the injuries I've been put through. Bloodshot eyes that only confirm they have not been shut for so long. And a damned attitude of someone disturbed, restless and impatient. An attitude of an insomniac. An attitude of a hallucinator.
        An attitude of someone with a wound that only seems to throb in the dark, only awakens in the cold silence and goes asleep in the morning, waiting for nightfall to revive yet again. 

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