sleep
it’s really hard to keep going like nothing’s happened. it doesn’t matter what caused it, whether it was natural or induced or you caused it or they caused it or whatever. it happened and it was terrifying and it changed my life and not a day goes by where i don’t think about it, not a day goes by where i don’t pinch myself and wonder ‘am i awake?’, wondering if i’m just constantly waking myself up from a dream that never ends in the first place.
i have to sleep with the lamp on in my bedroom now, when before i needed to sleep in complete darkness, any light being an annoyance to my closed lids.
i have to sleep with music on, when before i needed complete silence and the ticking of the clock, a steady rhythm in place of a metronome to lull me into complacency.
i left the clock up for one night and it ended in shambles, me ripping it off of the wall with a frustrated scream and throwing it across the room, the batteries scattering across the floor and nearly breaking the mirror that stands alone against the door. something that used to comfort me drives me insane now, these things that used to help me sleep are nothing but white noise in the void of silence and i need anything and everything that can distract me from those awful thoughts before i fall asleep because there’s that slim, slim chance that this isn’t reality, that this is all just a fabrication of my mind, and that you, my love, have murdered me, and i’m stuck in a repetitious hell - a residual spirit, left to repeat the last minutes of my life over and over again for eternity.
is this the after life?
i have to sleep with the lamp on in my bedroom now, when before i needed to sleep in complete darkness, any light being an annoyance to my closed lids.
i have to sleep with music on, when before i needed complete silence and the ticking of the clock, a steady rhythm in place of a metronome to lull me into complacency.
i left the clock up for one night and it ended in shambles, me ripping it off of the wall with a frustrated scream and throwing it across the room, the batteries scattering across the floor and nearly breaking the mirror that stands alone against the door. something that used to comfort me drives me insane now, these things that used to help me sleep are nothing but white noise in the void of silence and i need anything and everything that can distract me from those awful thoughts before i fall asleep because there’s that slim, slim chance that this isn’t reality, that this is all just a fabrication of my mind, and that you, my love, have murdered me, and i’m stuck in a repetitious hell - a residual spirit, left to repeat the last minutes of my life over and over again for eternity.
is this the after life?