The Girl Who Couldn't Sleep

Insomnia

Isabel's room was enveloped in the stillness of the night. Moonlight filtered softly through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his bed. Her departure from the comfort of her bed was a familiar ritual, one she repeated night after night. Sleep often eluded him, like a long-lost friend who had grown distant over time. The struggle to find restful sleep became a constant companion in Isabel's life. Her nights were a repetitive cycle of wakefulness, an experience she knew all too well. The hours passed and Isabel lay in the dark room, seeking comfort on her cell phone screen.

The phone's bright screen penetrated the darkness, offering a digital sanctuary where Isabel could lose herself. Her eyes, burdened with the weight of insomnia, bore the marks of countless sleepless nights – they were red and surrounded by deep, shadowy circles. Every night, she turned to her device, seeking refuge from the relentless insomnia that haunted her.

As the clock counted down, the persistent ticking of the hand could be heard throughout the house. She simply couldn't take the situation she was in anymore. Empty beer bottles scattered around the room and a few cigarettes, but that didn't help ease her inner restlessness.

Isabel's nightly routine unfolded in silence, her mind buzzing with thoughts, anxieties, and endless hours that seemed to stretch on forever. She checked messages, scrolled through social media and lost herself in the virtual world, all in an attempt to avoid persistent wakefulness.

He didn't know why this happened, he didn't know why he couldn't sleep, he could only link his problems with loneliness. Isabel lived in a small rented apartment, a home office and only left the house a few times to buy food.

She spent every night awake, watching and hallucinating monsters around her. The only hope was the dawn, the light that appeared and crossed her window was her only medicine... a medicine that only keeps her in this vicious cycle, because as soon as the Sun goes away, she will hear the clock hands and the sounds again. hallucinations will return.

À As the night progressed, Isabel's relationship with sleep remained tense. The hours blurred and his eyes remained fixed on the bright screen. She was trapped in a cycle of wakefulness, a prisoner of her own thoughts and the elusive promise of sleep that always seemed out of reach.

After days, weeks and perhaps months, his medicine also began to fail. Antidepressant prescriptions were stronger than normal, but with a short-lasting effect. Isabel couldn't cope, she became strange. She felt like she was happy, laughing at herself, hiding in the dark room with the monsters, talking to herself and hearing her internal clock breaking into smithereens.

Every day, like clockwork, the suffering began at sundown. The vibrant colors of the night sky filled his heart with a mixture of longing and dread. As the sun sank below the horizon, his eyes remained half-open, the beginning of another night of restless thoughts and sleepless attempts.  

When the clock on her bedside table stopped working, she couldn't help but obsess over its stillness. She longed to understand why time had stopped, just as her life seemed to have happened. With determination, she took the clock apart, the pieces spread out on the table like a puzzle that needed solving. She fumbled with the intricate gears and springs, each component a metaphor for the fragments of her own existence that had become disordered and uncontrollable.

Sleep was an illusory enigma, slipping from her hands like fine sand. Whenever she dared to lie down and close her eyes, her world seemed to spin. The very walls of his room have become a disorienting maze, how Isabel let herself be caught in hallucinations?

But as the minutes ticked by and the clock remained silent, she realized her battle extended beyond the mechanics of a clock. It was a reflection of her own life, of her search for answers and the incessant attempt to fix what seemed irreparably broken.

In the night, she found herself caught up in the elusive concept of time and her own internal struggle. The room testified to her relentless determination, the clock a reminder of the questions left unanswered and her heart an empty echo that took over her soul.

Her eyes had forgotten the soft touch of sleep. Night after night, her existence was trapped in a repetitive cycle, a cycle of restless wakefulness. She felt drawn to the walls of her room, as if the very fabric of reality was crumbling around her. Isabel's nights had become a maddening journey through a maze of hallucinations.

The room bore the scars of his inner turmoil. A broken clock sat silently on the wall, its hands frozen in time, just as his life had been. The constant ticking of the clock's mechanical heart echoed through the house, a constant reminder of the hours lost to sleepless nights.

Empty medicine boxes were scattered around the room, evidence of the desperate search for an elusive cure. They represented the countless attempts to find relief, but none had succeeded in freeing her from the shackles of her own mind. Isabel herself was at the center of this sleepless purgatory. His face wore a smile, but one born of anxiety and despair. She bit her nails nervously, her fingers shaking as she anxiously awaited the arrival of dawn. Every second that passed was a delay, and his desire for daylight grew stronger.

Trapped in her self-imposed torment, Isabel knew that the only respite she desired would remain forever beyond her reach. In the cruel paradox of her existence, sleep would only come when she was no longer alive. His nights were an incessant battle, and the dawn was a bitter promise of another day in this never-ending cycle.

The room was the silent witness to his agony, his inner torment. The walls, broken clock and empty medicine boxes became symbols of her desperate search for escape, while her eager smile and sleepless nights were the price she paid for her search for elusive rest. She would only be able to sleep if she were dead.