With All My Senses

loosening the knots

Scintilla ~ (n.) ~ a tiny, brilliant flash or spark;

a small thing; a barely-visible trace.

The following morning comes faster than I would have wanted it to come; a faint light waking me up just a few minutes after five. The next time when I look at the clock, it's after six and my eyes are still wide open, mind on the verge of exhaustion.

6:08 a.m.

A groan escapes my lips I and sink deeper under the covers, then kick everything off the bed in frustration. I couldn't sleep and all I had so far were two measly hours of interrupted, tortured rest. I felt my eyelids throb, feeling the sand in-between, the bags under them almost a separate being that craved for my undivided attention. It felt like someone had hit me during the sleep as if I was on a ring last night, fighting some invisible opponent that only I was aware of. Insomnia, my little destructive friend; never leaving my side for too long, always there in my darkest hour. My eyes wander to the digital numbers, and I swallow hard, feeling something slowly twist and break inside of me, the numbers screaming and taunting my brain.

6:28 a.m.

My eyelids stick together tighter than cement, every part of me begging for some release. I just wanted to have a small break from the world, from the overwhelming thoughts and the nightmares that never went away, no matter what I did. For a couple of hours not to hear the voices that were now quietly buzzing under my skull - thanks to him just gentle whispers for now - a simple background to my life. But the universe was not kind today and wouldn't let me rest. My stare wanders aimlessly up to the ceiling, as I visualize the sofa at Charlie's place, and how comfortable it felt. My thoughts returning to that mundane moment, just sitting next to him while he slept, feeling cozy, protected and at ease. Even the memory alone relaxes me and I yawn deeply, but instead of drifting into dreamland, I look for my phone and send a text. I don't want to call him in case he's still sleeping.

' You up? '

Just a moment later, my phone buzzes.

' Yes, but one could argue. What's wrong? ' 

' Just wanted to check up on you '

' Oh, I'm doing better '  

' Are you sure? '

' Yes. Why? '

' No reason, going back to sleep now '

I type out slowly, word by word, squinting my eyes and trying to see better. I yawn and my phone slips out of my hand before I can hear another buzz, my tired mind taking me deep under. But as with everything in my life, this state doesn't last too long. Less than an hour later I am jolted back to attention, sitting up straight, my body soaked in sweat. I scream out confused and run fingers through my wet hair, whipping away drops of sweat from the back of my neck while trying to catch my breath, heart racing like crazy. What woke me up? I think frantically but nothing comes to mind, just a faded image of an old clock and the sound of seven soft rings. 

That's all. But that couldn't be all, could it? To cause such a reaction?

I put my legs on the floor and feel the chilly air wrapping around them and making me shiver, the now wet clothes intensifying the effect. I stand up and throw on a thick gray hoodie on my barely covered body, feeling nauseous and weak as if I was about to throw up. Seven soft rings of a clock settled on an old wooden desk. I go to the bathroom but instead of doing anything, just sit on the edge of the old bathtub, staring numbly at the floor. What was going on with me? That dream - whatever it was - was throwing me off. Was it just because I was tired or was it something else? After a moment I stumble back and sit heavily on my bed, pushed by some invisible weight that I cannot see. I stare at my hands as if all the answers were there, waiting cautiously for my sanity to return.