Insomnium is supposed to be a word pertaining to dreams, with various interpretations of its meaning. It is unrelated to the sleeping disorder insomnia.
That sound in my ears is the hum of nothing. The high sound and the low sound as well. It is all created by nothing. It is always there, but I am listening to it like a tune now. I can hear the changes in pitch or tone. I think I hear a rhythm. This almost makes me smile because… I know I made it. It is my own heartbeat which kills me slowly by not beating in perfect 4/4 time. How dare my heart not beat like a metronome.
This is the soundtrack, but the visual is even more maddening. The red, laser light glow of numbers projected on the ceiling. Three… four… five…. My eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The whirring of my brain machinery is menacing to my eyes and plays all the worst movies. The favorite movie in this theater is the one where my life grinds to a halt or derails. All the passengers get off and wander into the endless metaphoric forest only to be crushed to death under the ever opened eye of wakefulness which is me.
I have to get up. I’ve wrapped myself into a cocoon of the softest sheets available on the most comfortable bed anyone has ever slept on. And, though it was all designed to assist with the sacrifice of slumber, none of it helps. In fact, it aggravates me to no end. How can it be this soft? How? I don’t understand how the bed can be so soft and comfortable and warm with cool pillows. How can anyone sleep on perfection like this!? Why can’t I? Christ, I have to get up.
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Standing under the bright florescent light in the kitchen lulls me into the false hope that I am tired. I’ll read. I can’t. I’ll write. I won’t. I’ll walk.
Yes. I’ll walk. Around the living room in a circle or back and forth. Again. Again. Again. I’ll try to lullaby my brain and rock it to sleep with the repetitive motion and laugh to myself about how this isn’t going to work either. Warm milk? Tea? Half a bottle of NyQuil? I will drink them all and laugh, so I don’t drink any of them.
The walking is helping. The glass of water is helping. Lying to myself that everything is fine… is helping. Now is the time to strike; now while I’m thrown about whether or not I’m tired. I return to the ridiculously soft bed and lay down quietly as if not to disturb my sudden urge to sleep. I lay still. I lay perfectly still like a corpse.
Unfortunately, this gives me time to think about myself and I begin to visualize. I am surprised how I see myself tonight. I would think that in the blackness of the night, there in my room, I would see myself as the abyss, but no, I do not. An abyss holds mystery. Anything could be at the bottom of a deep black pit. Something. Something. But, I am not that. I see the hole in my stomach shining light. Light. That is all. I can see everything and there is nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
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Suddenly, I am awake. It is two hours later and I open my eyes. Was I asleep or just in deep thought? I don’t know. I don’t feel like I’ve been asleep. I feel like I was jostled from a thought. I have to get up. Not because I couldn’t just stay right where I am, face up to the evil red numbers, but because they dictate I must be presentable in an hour’s time and walking like a voodoo toy, responding with hollow pleasantries.
