I can’t keep doing this.
I can’t keep lying awake at night.
Countless hours waiting for my eyelids to grow heavy.
Hours on hours to feel every ache and pain in my body.
I can’t do this much longer.
I’ve not slept in four days.
I can’t even think, I can’t form words to express how I feel. My mind is cluttered with nonsense.
Tears fall from my eyes, without emotions behind it. Everyone upsets me, everyone frustrates me. The tiny pet peeves I have that I choose to turn a blind eye too, now stands out like a searing burn.
My head throbs. My heart aches.
I blow up over the smallest things, and nothing makes sense.
Why can’t I sleep.
Sleeping has been a constant struggle since before I hit my first decade.
Chronic Insomnia is what the doctors enjoyed pegging it as.
On an average of 3-4 months at a time.
For an average of 2-3 hours a night.
You function. You have no choice but to function.
You keep your insomnia problems to yourself, because everyone wants to give their opinion on how you aren’t trying hard enough to sleep.
I’m sick of the opinions at this point.
Eleven years later you learn to just take the wee hours you’re given and not complain.
Insomnia isn’t all that bad. I get my best writing done at those times.
However it is my loneliest of times. I always wondered if my husband would stay up with me when I wasn’t able to sleep.
Bucky stayed up with me twice when I wasn’t able to sleep. Two times in a year. He made tea and we watched a movie, and both times I was able to fall back asleep. — I’m not sure why I’m mentioning this little fact, I really haven’t thought about it until today. Strange.
I think the lack of sleep causes me to ramble. I scroll up, apparently I’ve been writing for the past 40 minutes, but when it’s this early in the morning, time usually doesn’t matter.
Not until the sun comes up.