Meet my insomnia

“You look so tired.”

There’s knots in my stomach and a dull ache in my chest where there used to be feelings.

And I feel like I will be sick.

My throat pushes back down stomach acid before it can reach my taste buds.

I want to pace back and forth, but moving makes me feel worse. I cannot get comfortable on my pillow. The bed is hot, it makes me feel stuffy. I remove the covers.

Now I am cold.

I put the covers back on. It is hot again. I turn to the other side. My stomach does a few flips inside my body. I can feel it twisting.

My legs are restless. My head hurts. I want to read something, but my eyes hurt when I turn on a light or look at a screen. I can’t concentrate anyways.

I have been reading the same line over and over. Nothing is funny.

Things feel dark. My body feels dark. I feel dark. The world is a dark place. I can feel my chest bursting with a burning sensation. Maybe I am spontaneously combusting. I wonder if it is possible for the human body to spontaneously combust.

If it could, I imagine this is the feeling that would proceed it.

I can’t seem to distract myself.

A million and one events play themselves through my head. Some of them have passed. Some of them have not yet come to be. Every single one of them reflects the worst parts of myself. Mistakes. Terrible things I have done. Revolting things I have wished.

Selfish. Violent. Loathe to love. Quick to judge.

Things I worry I will do. Things I don’t want to do, but I see a nightmarish fantasy where I lose control and give into a purely primal and carnal nature.

I lose my consciousness and sense of self.

Who am I when nothing means anything to me? I think there is a part of me that could be sociopathic.

Are my morals simply part of my behavioral training? As I gain self awareness and discover that ethics are relative — subjective to cultural perception and individual concern — do I become less human?

Will I lose the ability to sympathize or empathize with others?

With each passing day, I trust less and less. With each passing moment I realize I must become self-sufficient.

Who will I be if I am successful in reaching full self-sufficiency?

I force myself to take deep breaths. My breathing has been so shallow, so rapid lately. Everything has been so exhausting. My eyes tear, even during the day, for no explicable reason.

As I break free of my own boundaries, I am suddenly at a loss for where to draw the line. I question whether any line exists at all.

I am drained but I cannot sleep. My eyes drift shut. My gut wrenches.

I tell myself if I lay here for just 5 more minutes, I will fall asleep. I’ve been telling myself that for the last several hours.

A very small part of me wishes for someone to be here for me, with me, soothing me, comforting me. Telling me the things I wish someone would be there to tell me. Wrap an arm around me, run their fingers through my hair, whisper in my ear and kiss my neck. Assure me they love me. Ride out this feeling with me.

The rest of me sees this desire as a weakness. At this point, I wouldn’t trust it to be any more than an illusion.

But what an illusion.

The ache in my chest is throbbing as if it is trying to replace my heartbeat. I can feel my heart pounding back as if trying to argue its own legitimacy.

I am legitimate, it says. I am here. I exist.

I wish I could reach into my chest cavity with my hands and soothe my heart into a steady, regular rhythm. You are legitimate, I would say as I comforted the soft tissue with my fingertips. You are here. You exist.

Anything so long as I could sleep.