Overanalyzing

sleep is the enemy

sleep is the enemy

       It's already getting late but he can't muster up enough energy to keep his eyes open for much longer. He feels completely drained, today has been a tiring day for him.

      You know that facade he constantly has every time you see him? That's right, his great people skills, charismatic personality, the smile which the girls would fall to his feet for just to catch a glimpse of, you'd think he has the lot.

          But he's really got none of that, he's got nothing at all. 

          You would have never guessed that he's sat here right now, practically fighting against his own instincts. His mind is begging him to sleep, but he knows too well what would happen if he does that. 

       The constant nightmares, visions and  the relentless incubuses. He hates facing them, when he's asleep he can't do anything to save himself.

       But when his own body decides to betray him; he collapses onto his bed feeling exhausted, finally giving in and letting his tiredness engulf him completely. 

        Sleep's so beautiful, yet so dangerous at the same time. Like a hideous monster hidden under the covers of a deceiving image.

       Some say sleep helps you momentarily forget about all your worries, fears, anxieties, you can escape from your reality. You're asleep, you're safe. 

              Yet he's asleep now and that's not the case. He's practically got guilt eating away at him. That mask, which was plastered on his face earlier today, now slips right off and you can see exactly what he's really like. 

         Sleep is his enemy because it tells you everything.

        The permanent frown on his beautiful face would be enough to tell you that he's worrying about a lot of things.

             Maybe everything.

            But you'll never find out what he's worrying about, it's not like he'd ever tell you when he's awake, it is? He keeps it bottled up deep down inside of him and he won't ever let it escape, not for anybody.

              The corners of his lips sink downwards into a miserable grimace, it's like he's constantly regretting something. No one can smooth it down, even if they tried with all their might.

              The twisting and turning in his sleep, his body is restless but his mind is exhausted, it's almost like it's having a war with itself. His long, slim fingers are quivering with fear as he unconsciously wraps his arms around himself like he's trying to hold himself together. 

           If only he could stop it all, but he just can't, he can't do anything when he's asleep.

          No one will find out what terrifying images he sees when his eyes are closed, because when he wakes up at four every single morning in a cold sweat, he'll just wipe his forehead and pull himself together. 

         He won't go back to sleep, not after that. Even if it means getting only a few hours of sleep every night, he'll go with it. 

        So now he's awake, and he's just sat there, staring at his bedroom wall while trying to stay awake.

          He's afraid of sleeping, he's afraid of being awake.

           He just can't win.

         So now it's time for him to get ready, he's trudging over to his desk and he's staring at the variety of masks laid out for him to choose from.

      He's having a hard time choosing over which one he should pick today. 

        Affectionate? Joyful? Sympathetic? Sociable...

       There's too many, he could try closing his eyes and randomly picking one out as if pulling a number out of a hat. 

       Or maybe he could try to 'eenie meenie miney mo' it?

      His hand decides to reach out for the joyful mask after a few moments of pondering. It's got a big grin on it that reaches its eyes, he feels sick to the stomach by even just looking at it. It's not what he wants to look like at all, but he has to do it, he doesn't want to let anyone know what he really feels. 

        He's slipping on the mask and it covers up his blood-shot eyes and purple bags perfectly.

       It works a treat.

        He runs his hand though his bed hair, just messing it up even more. 

        It's time for him to start another ordinary day at school, so he's now trudging out of his lifeless house and beginning his fifteen minute walk.

        As he arrives into school he receives an array of greetings from his friends, classmates, even admirers. 

      "Rico! Good to see you man, how was your weekend?"

       "Seriously, I called you three times last night, where were you?"

        "Hey, Rico!"

        He walks through the school corridors with that amicable, (false) smile plastered on his face. No one suspects a thing, this is perfect for him. But when he feels the gentle grip of someone on his right arm, he inwardly curses because he already knows who it is. She's the only person who is able to see through his constant facade, and he hates her for that.

          "Rico, why won't you let me help you?" Her eyes show genuine concern and care, but she's only wasting her time trying.

           "I don't need your help," he replies, lies. He wants and needs her help more than anything else in the world because he's barely able to help himself for much longer. They're both the only two that are able to see that he's hanging by just a single thread. 

        "You're lying," she says quietly, before insisting, "just let me help you with this... please."

          He believes he doesn't deserve any help, or any of her time. What he doesn't know is that this one, ordinary looking girl would be able to offer him the most help he would ever receive from anybody.  She knows what it feels like to be in his shoes, she knows how to make him happy. But he only wants her to stop caring for him, because it'll only make it harder for when he leaves.

     Yes, that's right. He's leaving, for good. And he certainly doesn't need her to make him think otherwise.

     He's praying that tonight will be his last. He'll finally be at peace with himself; no more interrupted nights, no more sleep, no more life. No more... anything.

      He just wants to feel nothing, be nothing.

      So, although that tiny part of him wants to beg her to save him from all of this, he walks straight past her. He catches a glimpse of her face and it hurts him even more by seeing her hurt and knowing that he was the cause. She doesn't stop him though, which somewhat surprises him. But he quickly shakes the thought away, he's only being selfish. What kind of monster would want someone to chase after them?

     He supposes that means she must be done trying. She's done, he's done. That's the only thing he believes they must have in common now.