Insomnia

INSOMNIA

I pushed open the door, as quietly and swiftly as I could manage, flipped the light switch on and, as quietly as I could, I vomited the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

I trembled with the effort of the heaving coughs, and hoped I wouldn’t wake anyone in the house.

It had happened again.

The voices. The shadows. The fear.

I had finally managed to fall asleep for the first time that week. Finally, I had become so thoroughly exhausted that all my fear could not keep my eyelids open for a moment longer, and, without my conscious consent, my eyes closed shut, and a dreamless sleep settled on my threadbare brain.

And, then, with a start, my eyes flashed open. I looked at the alarm clock next to my bed, knowing what it would read.

3:15 A.M.

It was about to begin.

That night, it began with the voices. The screams. I could hear them. The ones that suffered, like I did. Children, women, young boys, men. Their screams filled my ears, made a feeling of ice pool low in my hands, feet, and belly. I would start as I heard swearing and thuds, and crying. Desperation, blind fear, and terror.  Unadulterated terror. I could not do anything. I could not save these people. I could not fly in and defend them, like I ached to do. I could not kill the source of their agony. I could not even kill them. I would have, if I could have. There are things worse than death.

I could never help these people. For one, painfully obvious, reason.

They did not exist.

But that did not stop their screams from ripping through my sleep-deprived brain, ringing in my ears, echoing in my bones.

Then, as quickly as they had begun, the screams would cease.

And slowly, the shadows in my darkened room would begin to twist. They would begin to crawl from the recesses of the room, from the corners, from under dressers, from closets. The shadows would squirm, and contort, swirling around the air, reaching the ceiling and dragging images into my eyes.

I couldn’t tell what these images were just yet. But, I felt the fear they meant to impose hang heavily in my little bedroom. I did not dare to move a muscle. I did not blink.

The shadows had a mind of their own, and varied their routine from time to time.

That night, they chose to hover behind my headboard.

I felt the presences behind me. Then, I would stiffen as I felt warm breaths by my ears, smoothly slipping down my neck and chilling my heart.

“You’ll never be forgiven,” one would whisper in my brain.

“Why put off the inevitable any longer, little one?” another would add.

“Die. Have peace. Die. Join us, and die,” they would intimate, filling my head with their soundless words.

<Padre nuestro, que estas en los cielos, santificado sea tu nombre…> I would whisper in my mind, silently, feverishly, grasping at straws.

A face swooped down from the ceiling, shaped by smoke and shadow.

< Jesus, please, help me>

“No forgiveness. Never,” the face laughed, hot breath on my skin.

Bile began to rise in my throat, filling my mouth.

Suddenly finding my body worked, I jumped from my bed, and ran down the hall to the bathroom, where I let go the hot, bitter liquid that flooded my mouth.

As disgusting as it was, vomiting was reassuring. It didn’t let me think. I couldn’t sit and mull over the events of a few moments ago. I just had to let my body react. Just go until I collapsed from the effort, shaking, onto the cold white tile of the bathroom floor.

I stood up, wearily, but feeling a bit better. Carefully avoiding my face in the mirror, I turned on the faucet, and let the cool water soothe my mind. I washed out my mouth, and splashed a bit of water on my face.

I watched the water flow in around the sink drain for a few minutes, my face dripping. I watched as water droplets warmed by my skin would fall into the swirling liquid in the sink, each droplet washed away quickly, swiftly cooling and purifying its surroundings.

Purifying water. Cleansing water. Clean, and cool, and transparent. Hot tears formed behind my eyes, and I dipped my head into the sink, letting the cold water rush around my face and head.

<purify me>

Awhile later, I turned off the faucet. Squeezing excess water out of my long, curly hair, I swept it into my habitual bun atop my head. Wiping my face, I reached for a towel, and dried my skin. Inhaling, I looked into the mirror, and inspected my face.

Yep, I was still there. Not too worse for the wear, save for the darkening circles under my eyes, and the skin that seemed to get paler daily. But overall, you really couldn’t tell just by looking at me. Nope, you couldn’t guess the secrets I hid. And that was just as well.

I pulled the shower curtain aside, and stepped into the tub. Pulling the curtain closed, I crouched down and leaned back into the tub.

<I think I’ll leave the lights on>

And there I lay, fearful of going back into my darkened bedroom. The tub wasn’t so bad. It was fine for the night. I closed my eyes, knowing that I would wake up before my alarm, and sneak back into my room just as the orange and pink would peek through the blinds of the window in my bedroom, filling my room with wistful Technicolor, as if nothing had ever happened.

I would crawl back into bed, fifteen minutes before the alarm would go off, and twenty minutes before my mother would walk into my room. I would keep my eyes closed, and pretend to let her rouse me out of my slumber.

I would pull on my red hoodie, slap on my leather cuff, smear a bit of eyeliner on my face, and walk into the dining room for breakfast.

“Josie, I’ve told you a thousand times if I’ve told you once, take off your eyeliner before you go to bed, you’re starting to look like a raccoon,” my mother would admonish, setting down a bowl of cereal before me.

“Ma, I’m too busy to remember to do that! I’ve got homework coming out of my ears,” I would reply innocently, avoiding her gaze.

“Plus, every the eyeliner I try smears during the day, anyway. And, I don’t much care,” I would quip, finishing my cereal and rushing out the door into the rising sunshine.

<Sunrise. It’s over, for now.>