Over the past few years, I've tried to explain what it's like to have insomnia to those that are curious and don't suffer with it themselves. But every time I'd try, the words felt like puzzle pieces that didn't really fit together. They sounded disjointed inside my head upon passing through my lips, and it really didn't surprise me when every time, without fail, the person would tilt their head slightly and nod, accepting my answer without question because they knew no better.
But I did.
and I knew that it didn't matter how I explained it, which order I arranged my words, I could never capture the feeling with them. Not really. So for a while, I gave up trying and just accepted that whenever I looked tired; skin ghostly pale, skies of ink void of stars laying beneath my eyes, people would ask if I had slept alright the previous night, and I would smile and say 'Of course.' {laugh} Though I doubt anyone ever actually believed me.
But it's funny, because it's taken me four years, four long and difficult years, searching fervently for any means of explanation to finally find one that makes sense to me;
Having insomnia is like being trapped on the wrong side of a locked door. It really doesn't matter how desperately you try to find the key to it, you never do. But that doens't stop you from trying time and time again, because you hope against hope that maybe you'll stumble across it, hidden in a flower pot or under the door mat ... Even though you know it wont be there, you still try, because what else is there to do?
20th December 2011
Dear Insomnia,
All those nights I lay awake hoping you would leave me, but knowing you wouldn't. I could count them for you, if you want me to. You see, the abuse you deal out isn't worth this tired relationship, my dear, we've worn ourselves out and I fear that even now, I cannot shake you.
You've anchored yourself to my ribcage and like a lover, you refuse to share me. Sleep feels betrayed by you, might I add. You've dealt a fatal blow to him and it shouldn't surprise you when I say, he seeks revenge for your selfish nature.
It's odd to think that I used to think you as special. That I was the one who you chose to curl up to in those long, dark hours leading up to sunrise. That I could be the one you shared your secrets with. But after a while, I realised I wasn't special at all, and all you wanted was my suffering.
You're heartless, and I long for you leave me. To find some other poor soul to torment with your pitiful games, because I'm exhausted by them. Please, this isn't fair.
You smother me with cold affection night after night, and I need you to stop.