I don't know what's up with that cheesy 50's horror flick title, it just felt right. So here's my attempt at an autobiographical lie. I'm a horrible sleeper and to make it worse my dreams are usually terrifying and extremely realistic. My sleeping problems are really important to me, so much so that sometimes I find myself exaggerating when it comes to how little sleep I get. Though that's a difficult thing to pinpoint in general. So maybe I'm not exaggerating?
Either way we haven't really touched on sleep or dreams too much this semester and like I said it's something I'm really interested in, something that I'm constantly thinking about so I figured I'd go with that.
I haven’t slept in days.
No, that’s too much of an exaggeration. I’ve had moments of rest here and there during the night. Rest, ha. What’s so restful about this sleep imposter? Every night it’s exactly the same. I lay my head down on the pillow waiting for Hypnos, God of Sleep, to come and take me away. Do something. Anything! But I just lay there with eyes wide open. Often sleeps eludes me to the point that my eyes don’t even understand that they should be shut. I try to close one. Then the other. I slowly count myself into slumber. One…two…three…It’s torturous to keep them closed for so long. They spring open and here we are back at stage one.
Is it any coincidence that Death is the half brother of Sleep? Maybe Torment is their second cousin.
I lay down, waiting patiently for sleep but it only comes in swells. That’s not a shallow attempt at being poetic. I can literally feel the waves of sleep slide over my body at night. It starts at the tips of my toes and slowly moves its way up and over my calves, my knees to my thighs. If it’s a particularly strong wave, my legs will shudder. This shudder always wakes me up from this sad crack at sleep. We start again; toes, calves, thighs, torso, fingers, arms, head.
I’m asleep but still aware. My brain, mostly awake, forces me to take into account every gentle sound that surrounds my bed. It takes these interruptions and incorporates them into the stream of nightmares I am barraged with nightly.
I am Morpheus’ plaything.
Each one more heinous than the next. It is during these moments I am grateful for how lightly I sleep. A loud raindrop on my air conditioner can bring me back into consciousness. Bring be back into a world of darkness somewhere between dream and reality.
Every night that line dims a little more.