stigma

|04|

I've never really been able to sleep at night.

It started at age 10. I used to wake up abruptly in the middle of the night after a nightmare, but I was often terrorized even after I was awake. I would watch, scared, as demons danced before my very eyes, unable to move and unable to make a sound. They would taunt me, laughing at my state and grabbing at my limbs, scratching and pulling. My family would ask, 'What happened to you? Why're there marks on your arms?' and I was unable to reply because I really didn't know the reason. I didn't know what was wrong with me, why I kept seeing things, why I couldn't stop it, why I couldn't fucking sleep!

I felt constantly tired during the day times too. I couldn't keep awake during classes or during conversations. I felt tired and drowsy all the time, no matter how much caffeine I drank or how much cold water I splashed on my face. I would often just fall asleep but just as quickly as I had dozed off, I would wake again.

I couldn't study, I couldn't concentrate during classes, I couldn't play football, I couldn't eat, i couldn't do anything! I felt so goddamn tired all the time, it was almost overwhelming. I couldn't explain it to others either out of fear that they'd think I was mad. The anxiety would clutch at my throat, choking me, engulfing me, until I could take no more.

It was only at age 7 when I decided to see a counselor, did my problems come to a rest.

Miss Counselor stared at me with a suspicious expression, trying her best to hide her emotions but in her eyes I could see the horror. She assigned me to a psychiatrist immediately. It was terrifying, all those stares from people I barely knew, whispering hurriedly amongst themselves and scribbling on notepads, giving me innumerable prescriptions.

The saddest part of all was when they told my parents. My dad held my mum close as she tried to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks, covering her mouth with her hands as she silently sobbed. I couldn't help feeling like such a burden, like an obstacle in the lives of my parents.

I was diagnosed with narcolepsy at age 13, an extremely rare sleep disorder. The inability to move at times was cataplexy, and the dreams I kept seeing even when I was awake were hallucinations.

It got better when I started taking pills. I still felt tired, but not as much as before. The cataplexy wouldn't kick in often and the hallucinations were also less. However, I still never really felt tired at night.

I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes were evident and my face looked dead. I sighed, staring down at the sink as I pushed my short hair away from my face. I reached for the cabinet, taking out my prescription bottle and emptying the last few pills into my hands.

I swallowed them, taking a quick gulp of water before waking back into my room. I sat in front of my laptop, plugging my headphones in and immediately relaxing once the beat of music thrummed in my ears. My fingers danced above the keys in sync with the music as I thought about what to do. I opened up Facebook, scrolling mindlessly through my feed. Without even knowing, I found myself pulling up Calvin's profile. I scrolled through his posts, which were mostly consisted of scenery and group selfies. Most of them didn't have any captions, and they ones which did were so mainstream that I scoffed. I came across a blurry selfie of him with Rohan, smiling absently at the wide grins on their faces. I kept scrolling, finding myself searching for a solo picture. I couldn't help noticing the amount of likes and comments on each post, easily exposing his social status.

I stopped, finally finding a picture that had him. Just him. He was standing in the middle of a city at night, the lights twinkling behind his back and the sky a deep cerulean hue. It was supposedly a candid because it was slightly blurry and he was mid-laugh, torso thrown backwards and hands reaching up to cover his face. His eyes crinkled at the edges and his lips were bared in a wide grin to reveal his canines. The picture was the realest and most explicit delineation of Calvin, and I was momentarily thrown off by how accurately it captured his laugh. I could almost hear his half choked giggle resonate through my ears.