Thunder and Liza

Tiredly I wipe my eyes and shift to a more comfortable spot on the couch, rolling over so that I’m facing the wall. Hours drag by like this. I lay still a while in hope of letting the sleep consume me, but it doesn’t. I walk around the kitchen a couple of times to try and tire myself out, but still there is no sign of sleep on my mind’s horizon; just an empty lulling feeling of fear.

The rain’s set in, a storm’s brewing. That’s what on the horizon out the window; the fear in my mind.

The curtains are always open. Instead I watch, lying on the couch, my head resting against the armrest. The grey clouds are heavy and low, I can hear the rain pelting on the roof already and shivers roll down my spine, but I make no move for a blanket. Because how do I hide from fear? It finds me wherever I am, no matter what. 

I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to fall asleep before the thunder starts. That’s the worst part of it; it’s loud and constant. The lightning draws me out of sleep again, each time it flashes.

My knees fold up to my chin, my arms wrap securely around them to hold them in place. Even my toes curl over in an attempt to block out the fear. Sometimes I laugh at the fact that some people relish in a storm while I hide from it. Above me I can hear the first of the thunder, it sounds like someone falling down the stairs; shortly after that, the flash of light follows it, jerking me awake from my fictitious sleep.

There’s nothing I want to do more right now than turn over and sleep. I wouldn’t mind falling asleep to the rain if the storms weren’t around. But what do I do with the fear?

A cool breeze blows against my neck, goosebumps tickle my skin; the air conditioner is on as usual. It’s supposed to help me fall asleep; people are more likely to fall asleep in the cold, but all it can do for me is make me more alert than before. I’m sure that it’s currently only eleven degrees, turning the room into an iceberg replica: which to a normal person would make them sleepy.

A flash of lightning recaptures my attention. Involuntarily I curl up even more, ducking my head into my knees wrapping my arms tighter across my legs. The thunder rumbles and it feels like it’s suffocating me. That’s what I get so scared of. That there’ll only be that fear forever, that fear of noise and light.

My heart is hammering away to the same beat as the storm. Yet my breathing is calm. I’m anxious to move, to do something. To close the curtains, to let the storm pass. I think about making myself some food or turning on the television, but my electricity bill is just about through the roof and I have no way of paying it off because I don’t have a job. So I stay still, watching as the rain batters against the window. 

One of my hands finds their way into my hair and I twist my fingers through the unbrushed mess. The knots tighten around my fingers and I rake my hand out, holding onto the ends, examining them. The split ends trail up further than I consider healthy.

My eyes catch on my ragged finger nails. One of the side effects of being so paranoid is that I’m a nail bitter. They make my hands look hideous. The nails are bitten right into the nail beds: red and raw. Sometimes I think that if I didn’t bite my fingernails, I’d be perfect. That everything would be okay. But it wouldn’t and that’s a lie. I bite my nails because of my irregular sleeping pattern, so unless I change that, my nails will remain short and choppy for a long time.

It’s clear that I’m an insomniac, but is that my fault or the storm’s? And is the storm really there or am I hallucinating? Nothing’s healthy here. Not my hair, not my nails, not my mind, not even me. I can feel everything eating away at me, like the rain at the roof. Rusting, decaying, dissolving. There’ll be nothing left in the end and I think that’s okay. So to that I say, hello darkness my old friend.