It’s a gnarly, twisted thing, goblin-like in appearance. It is stealthy and unpredictable, and absolutely, completely, inarguably evil. It steals the brains of its victims, shrivels up their muscles, twists their guts, and voraciously gobbles at Reality until its victims go completely mad.
Insomnia is a vile, opportunistic sleaze-hole without a single redeeming quality.
No, not even the temporary high it gives you, just for a little while. See, that period of being happy/giddy/bouncy/manic? It’s the bait. It never lasts as long as it did the first time, it never feels as good as we remember, and it’s never worth the crash.
Insomnia, the spiteful little maggot, has been slowly eating more and more of my brain the last few weeks. It wasn’t bad at first, but it is getting progressively worse — the other night I couldn’t sleep at all, only doze. I lay in bed for a few hours, passing in and out of consciousness before my alarm let out this obnoxious fucking noise and was summarily slapped into silence. Another day, I managed to sleep — but I fell asleep way earlier than I normally would, and thus woke up at seven minutes to six in the fucking am. There is no God at that time of day. The only way that particular slice of existence is not more disgusting than a frat-house bathroom is when seen from the other side after a night of hard partying or fuck-all-night sex.
There was also the day where I stayed awake for about . . . 30 hours? That number sounds about right, let’s go with that — in an attempt to reset my body’s clock and get some actual sleep. Although, to be fair, I did cheat a little — there were a couple of little cat-nap type dozing sessions in there, but no real sleep. Then, of course, there were the days where I managed to actually get a little sleep — but mostly because I slept right through my alarm (and/or mangled it in my sleep) and then slept right through the class or appointment I was supposed to attend.
And of course, all this goes without mentioning the sheer, skull-numbing exhaustion. Or the hallucinations (because, seriously — if you stay awake long enough, your perceptions will start bending a la Salvador Dali). Or the fact that, if/when you actually can get to sleep, it’s at the most inopportune time — like in the middle of a lecture, or two hours before your alarm is supposed to go off. Or the new ways that you experience tired when the insufferable rot-muncher appears — because there is feeling tired in your body (muscle aches, soreness/stiffness, headaches, nausea), and there’s feeling it in your brain (the utter inability to think in any significant or clear way, inability to concentrate, disorganized thoughts), and then there’s the sleepy-tired that we all know and love.
And, well, I’m no stranger this particular putrescent pest. I just wouldn’t be anywhere near as mad about the fucking ordeal if any of the usual methods I have for handling it were working. Sadly, they are not. *head-desk* I don’t know what else to try, really.
And, yeah, okay, there is a part of me (most likely the batshit crazy one), that says I ought to just ride the sleepless train and use it to get my stupid bloody essays done. The only problem with that (*snort*, yeah, because there’s only one, right?) is that you are never as effective as you think you are, or hope to be, when you are this insanely tired.
I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.