Unspoken Insomnia: An Experience

Eight o'clock pm

Perfect time to get some rest in

I've set the alarm

Placed my pillows just right

I lay my head and hold my bear tight

 

But the monsters under my bed

The man inside my head 

They know that in eighth grade I puked

Not only did I puke but I puked all over the teacher's shoes

And not only did I puke all over the teacher's shoes but with a puke of bright orange and chunks of chicken and Cheetos

 

They know that in ninth grade I almost had my first kiss

They also happen to know that my almost first kiss was an utter failure

They know every embarrassing moment in my life in excruciating detail

From what color shirt I wore to the way his lips touched my... chin

They know that it's these thoughts that keep wide awake and riddled with anxious insomnia

 

I check the time... it is now 11:06 pm

How? If only three hours ago I had meant to get some rest in 

But I stay stuck

On one thought at first

and then another

and then another

and then another

and the cycle continues until I check the clock again only to find that it's One o'clock am

 

But how? 

I made the plan

I set the alarm

I placed the pillows just right

I held my bear and I held him tight

But I guess it just wasn't enough

Oh no!

There goes another thought 

Hook!

Line!

Sinker!

And just like that, I am caught in another series of spiraling thought

 

I check the clock 

and as I see it my insides begin to rot

"3:25 am"

Can someone just place a chloroform filled up against my nose and knock me out?

It'd be easier than having  to deal with the man inside my head

Easier than having to listen to that voice living inside my head

It'd be easier than being stuck in an endless loop of spiraling thought

With no notion on how it can be fought

 

Helpless, I lay

I turn off my phone and begin to say:

"There is no monster, there is no man"

"There is no monster, there is no man"

I repeat it over and over with no end

However, there is still no stop to the twitching of my hand

 

I force myself to drift

Shutting my eyes does not do much

it doesn't shut the monster

nor does it shut the man

it only shuts my eyes, my vision

In fact, the monster begins to roar and the Man begins to yell

They grow the louder

"Count backward from fifteen"

You'll understand what I mean

Take this time for yourself 

And drift to sleep.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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