Falling asleep isn’t a terribly difficult task, in theory. I can do a multitude of things to obtain a ticket to dreamland. I can count sheep until I drift off into a peaceful slumber. I can drink chamomile tea, or read an old book that my mother insists on me reading, or recite my times tables all the way to 20. I can even contemplate the weight and worthiness of my existence due to the crushing dread associated with any botched social interaction I’ve ever had, regardless of insignificance.
I lay there in my warm, safe bed wondering why and how I was stupid enough to respond with “you too” when the waitress said “enjoy your meal.” I agonize over how dreadfully awkward I was back in middle school with my rhinestone backpack and low ponytail, or how I said sorry way too many times, and then apologized for saying it so much. I lay there in the dark, thinking about how meaningless and small my life really is in the grand scheme of things. I try to comprehend how infinitesimal the impact that my actions have truly is. The sheer weight of the knowledge I have yet to possess, combined with what seems to be the size of the universe, suffocates me and presses the very peace out of my body. I lay blindly in the dark wondering how I might make any sort of difference with the eighty or so years I might have. Should I live like there’s no tomorrow? Or should I follow the tortoise's example of how to run a race?
Once I realize truly how little time I have, I begin to think about how little I’ve accomplished in comparison with my peers. A sense of hopelessness creeps in--more like it kicks in the door and starts knocking stuff off of the shelves and tables of my mind with its destructive tendrils. It feels as if the universe and everything in it wants me to give up on my dreams, my aspirations, and myself.
Like trying to retroactively salvage my dignity from the mistakes I've made; life itself seems pointless, and all I want to do is escape this downward spiral of thoughts and indescribable emotions. It shouldn’t be this hard to obtain a good night’s rest, especially at a young age. I attempt to remind myself that I do, in fact, matter. I have mass and take up space.
In the same vein of taking up space, I remember the family and friends that I've lost to the inescapable marching of time and inevitability of death. I remember those who no longer take up the space that they used to on this planet, now residing solely in my mind, in my heart, and in a box in the ground. The thought of certain death years from now yanks me away, yet again, from the grief I have yet to confront.
I belong to a race of extremely destructive beings who have just as little time to live as I do. I remind myself that life is short, and it is pointless to agonize over the little--and sometimes big--things in it. However, this just isn’t how my brain works. Reminding myself is a fruitless endeavor. It's like trying to compromise with a toddler who just drank a liter of Pepsi and doesn't want to go the heck to sleep.
At least the universe doesn’t have a personal vendetta against me in particular, as I am just one person out of the unquantifiable amount of beings that have been or will be in existence; most of which are more significant than myself. I struggle to fight against the torrent of intrusive thoughts, spiraling further and further. Each new thought overshadows the previous in an endlessly fractured storyline, like a choose-your-own-adventure book on crack. My train of thought has long since been derailed, and is hurtling toward the abyss at surprisingly high speeds, considering my level of sleep deprivation. The one thing I fear in life is moving too fast, and my brain is doing just that, of course. The proverbial darkness seems to seep into my mind, one drip after another
after another
after another.
I’m pulled from my overflowing stream of consciousness by the overlapping sounds of the nice little wind chime notification noise I selected for my phone. In a desperate attempt to cling to any dredges of sleepiness, I squint and peer glasses-less at the now illuminated screen. It’s my friends making absolutely fantabulous life choices: deciding to blow up the group chat at two in the morning on a Tuesday.
The wheels spinning in my brain screech to a stop.
Thankful for the distraction, I shove the weight of the universe off of my chest for the purpose of better pursuing the pleasant experience of spending my short, insignificant life chasing satisfaction and joy with others just like me.
I spend some time reconnecting with those I care for--the ones that matter most to me-- finding solace in exchanging memes and walls of text that very much follow the iconic drunk-girl-in-a-club-bathroom tradition of gushing about how beautiful and awesome and amazing everyone is and how much we mean to each other.
Finding myself comforted and uplifted by the people I've been lucky enough to meet, I don't feel nearly as alone. I finally manage to escape their loving clutches a little over an hour later. Submerged wholly in the feeling that I now know as belonging, I finally surrender my consciousness to the three hours I have left in the night…
Falling asleep isn't a terribly difficult task. That is, until I get to thinking about what's yet to come.
JE LEEST
When You Can't Sleep
Kort verhaalI wrote this for English class, and I think it turned out pretty well.
