Up All Night

She’s lying in her bed, surrounded by mounds of blankets and pillows, wanting nothing more than to glue her eyes shut.

Not that she thinks that will help.

She hasn’t slept in weeks, the one month mark approaching quickly, reminding her that she never got the help she swore she would. She tries and tries and tries to sleep, but she can’t. She closes her eyes and only feels herself suffocating in the darkness her eyelids provide.

Eyes open, every shadow in the room haunts her, like ghosts seeking revenge. Every creak, every rustle, every neighbor flushing snaps her into an even more wide awake state.

She is alone and she is scared.

No one to call, no one to help, she often lets her imagination run too wild.

She checks the locks thrice before getting in bed, then twice more in the night when she swears she heard something. When she isn’t fussing with the locks, she’s going around the house, turning on every light, peeking in every corner to ensure nothing, and no one, is there, even though she knows she is alone.

She lies in bed again and cries, hoping she gets an ounce of sleep so that tomorrow she isn’t forced to drown herself in coffee, just to stimulate her senses.