When Sleep Doesn't Come

Chapter 1

            I walked into school the next day feeling overly self-conscious about my stomach.  It felt bloated.  Yesterday had not been a good day.  It just hadn’t.  My mom got mad about the weirdest things, leaving me hurt and confused.  The other day it was because I hadn’t walked the dog.  No one told me I had to walk the dog.  So why am I being yelled at?  Nothing made sense anymore.  But after and scream-fest I ran to my room sobbing and raided my secret donut stash.  I ate all six Krispy Crèmes within the hour.  That’s what I do when I’m upset: eat.

            I’m almost never hungry; I never really have been.  I was the kid who was too full for cake at the birthday party, or didn’t mind if I skipped breakfast and lunch.  Never in my life have I been “skinny”, just thin.  I had the world’s slowest metabolism.

            But then, overnight it seemed, my friends were suddenly “too good for me”.  I was constantly being teased for my lower grades, even if it was just by a percent; my not-so-awesome looks, just because my face was a bit rounder and I had a pimple in just the wrong place; and countless other mindless reasons they found to suddenly despise me.  And I hated them for it.  They would still try and pretend that I was still their friend, but I knew that it was over.  Everything I did or said was just something to be laughed at.

            And then there was the insomnia.  I had used every trick in the book from counting sheep, to strong sleeping pills.  Nothing worked.  My mind just raced and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  It was useless, a hopeless case.  I gave up.  Nowadays, three hours of sleep was a good night.

            I knew it was slowly killing me, theoretically of course, bit by bit.  Eating too much and sleeping too little and hurting beyond belief for no specific reason were probably not good combinations.  But what else was there left for me to do?

            I was lost.