Insomnia, Inspiration, and Solitude

A day in the life of an insomniac who is home alone all day

3:21am.
The world around you views the back of their eyelids, and you feel most awake as the off-white walls are breathing down your neck, daring you to close your eyes.

  You’re never really awake, but your closed eyelids bring nothing close to a pleasant stupor. Nothing is real, yet everything is severely intensified.

  The computer screen spits fuel to your insomnia in the form of games and messages from former classmates who pretend they still know just who they think you are.

  But do they know that the floors growl beneath your feet at every step?

  That you begin to make faces back at the outlets, because they have been staring for far too long,

and the slightest stains on the concaving walls appear to be crawling downward, as if trying to match your diminishing thoughts and IQ.

  The stationary objects around you conspire together and shift places, with intentions of fleeing and putting more space between you, just like everyone you knew.

  And you start to wonder why the vents only breathe in intervals, and you consider accepting their challenge of seeing who can hold their breath the longest. You wonder what it would feel like to win, and you know just the trick.

  Why is everything around you alive only when everyone else is asleep?  Is it all in your head?   You are deathly afraid of both feasible answers.

     12:14pm. You awaken to the piercing silence of an empty home. Next comes the gut-punch reminder that today is just like yesterday and every day before and to come, and your only company is the creak of the floors, taunting your every step. They don’t reach out, but it’s only a matter of time.

  You sit on the couch to escape the taunts and feel it give way to your presence, and wonder, if only for a few seconds, if you could minimize your body small enough to seep through the threads of the floral print.

  The couch responds with a smirk at your hopes of it welcoming you in, so you stand up.

  Clouds swarm and smog your head, blanketing your thoughts, canceling any hope of a joyful mood.

  How can you possibly smile when the ceiling glares with perpetual familiarity, back at you?

  The eerie silence seduces its way into your thoughts and with a quiet kiss, has you believing that you’re constantly being watched by an unseen pair of eyes. No wait, make that plural.

  When you brush your teeth, you can’t help but stare down the dark, bottomless drain and fear whatever might be peering back through the blackness. If you don’t look, maybe it won’t hurt you.

     3:57pm. The voices on the television screen begin to mutate and melt together, forming a constant hum that has become your main thread of sanity.

  You reach for the remote, but your limbs have given up obedience and you begin to imagine them contorting themselves into cemented stone, crumbling away before your eyes.

  You can hear each chiseled chip crashing and smashing to the ground in synchronized beating with the clock dangling from the wall.

Crumble..

Tick.

Release..

Tock.

Shatter..

Repeat.

You feel the plaster traveling through your veins, infecting the rest of your lifeless body, until your cold, cemented exterior matches the temperature of your heart.

  As your glossy eyes fall zone to the wooden floor, you can’t help but wonder; if your entirety crumbled to the ground, would they be able to pick you apart from the dust you were already gathering?

     9:39pm. People begin to ask you how your day was and what all you have done.

   Your mind tries its hardest to pinpoint a miniscule highlight, at the least, but falls short. You mutter a repetitive, “Nothing”, and allow your mind to form around the word that describes your solemn existence.

  You couldn’t possibly tell them that the most appealing part of your solitude of the day was the 16 minutes you slowly moved your fingers in front of your face, because you were simply captivated by their graceful movement.

  You wondered why you never learned to play piano and violin.

  They couldn’t possibly conceive the spark of happiness you experienced when you realized it must be because a pencil fits more comfortably, more naturally, in your small, fragile hands.

  They wouldn’t want to hear how you hit an all time high with panic attacks today, and you thought, more than once, that your heart might literally explode from your chest if you don’t find your breath soon enough.

  You begin to blame the vent for challenging you.

  They couldn’t possibly understand the complexity of your simple day. So you don’t tell them, and soon enough, they slumber away, safe in their beds, while you wish for more time in their company.

     12:48am. Repeat.

Author's Note

Let me know what you think, please. :)

Reviews

[reflectingus]

I had mixed feelings as I read this. I'm deeply impressed by the words, the immense detail, and also how this piece made me feel. And I felt the disturbance, as each insecurity spread like virus through my mind, and the thoughts, the personification of objects, the onomatopoeia, and of course, the relation of every movement, with real life. and "The stationary objects around you conspire together and shift places, with intentions of fleeing and putting more space between you, just like everyone you knew," exemplifies this greatly.
I enjoyed the flow of thoughts, the creepiness felt by the mind, the pain underlying the loneliness, and hopes still a bit glimmering as the last part, that the hands hold a pen, concluded this almost journal entry with an aura of caution, and my admirations for your thoughts. And it also shows that everything may not be what it seems, life is a lot more complex, as the last part says it, and it also shows how we all crave company. Well expressed, I'm deeply moved.

[Craig2591]

You suffer from depression, don't you? Because I once did and this hit it on the nail. It's like you got inside of my head to write this.

[Alana McGuire]

Yes, I do. I'm sorry that you can relate, but I really glad you enjoyed it. :)

[Craig2591]

I am 58 now and have been depression-free for most of my life. I hope that gives you some hope. Keep writing.

[Alana McGuire]

It does, thank you!

[Craig2591]

If you get the time, here is a chapter I wrote about dealing with depression. http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/abcblair/1171121/

[Ian Faraway]

I can honestly say that I've experienced this and you've described it in such details that I started having cold sweats from flashbacks. This was very well written and it inspired me to write a piece of my own. J'adore! -Ian

[Alana McGuire]

Thank you greatly for reading and reviewing! I'm really glad my words could provide inspiration for you; that's super awesome. :)

[Luke Rawlings]

A great descriptive piece of writing! You capture the night environment so well and then move to share the influence of it in the day. A great piece. Bravo :)

[Alana McGuire]

Thank you! When I was reading your piece about the night last night, it reminded me of when I wrote this. It's nice to read about the night in different perspectives. Thank you very much!

[Luke Rawlings]

Same! This piece reminded me of my own, but I must say you have done a better job :P

[Alana McGuire]

Let's just say we're both spiffy. ;) hahah

[Luke Rawlings]

And for that word, you deserve a high five. A spiffy one :P

[Alana McGuire]

One of my favorite words ^-^

[Luke Rawlings]

Well, you've inspired me to use it in my next piece :P

[Alana McGuire]

Scooore! Message me when you have it posted. :D

[nigrum homonculus]

man. the images you create are crazy. definitely one of the best i have read so far. well done!

[Potter]

I can relate to this too well. I am an insomniac at times. I hate it when i just lay there and cant fall asleep!!

I like this story. It sounds familiar.

[Not Your Typical New Yo..]

I really like stories because I myself is a story writer. And you're story is very descriptive with not only details but how the person who is reading it really feels. I really like that you use the second person point of view, it really makes the reader really feel what's going on. I hardly see second person story, but yours is nicely done. Awesome job!!!

[R J Askew]

I love this dab >>> The computer screen spits fuel to your insomnia

Being a misanthrope I naturally take a dim view of most human activity. And so my suspicion, and it is no more than that, is that many of our ills are down to self-obsession. I don't know if this is true of course. But that does not trouble my inner misanthrope. Maybe the situation is down to surfeit mental energy. If this is true, then the solution is to engage in a demanding creative task. Then the computer games will be forgotten about and friends will take second place to 'the mission.' Paradoxically, the mission may make you intensely interersting to some others. But it will be too late then as you will care only for the mission and others will be distractions now. You will also be soooo exhausted by the mission that you will be asleep in 1/100th of a second.

I wld definitely turn off that TV screen and shun the sanity you describe as much of what we turn sanity is very questionable.

Yes, a mission pursued madly will guarantee a lifetime of the sweetest sleep. But can you face turning from the PC and the TV? That is the question.

Hmmm, 0010 ayem. Time for my 7 hours of dreamless death.

[Danielle]

There is so much detail and description in this piece, and I love the word choice. I could definitely feel the emotion you were going for, and it definitely made me think. Very well written!