the book of poetry

Insomnia // Entry Two

Insomnia

The doctors think I have insomnia.

I think I do too because my bed isn't much different from a couch because of the amount of times where I avoid it so I don't look lazy. That's what I tell the therapist anyway who on the first day she saw me told me that she had a son my age and a daughter who made mistakes.

Not that I asked or anything but he's failing in all his classes because he has no motivation to pass the apparent phases he's in.

Next she asks me when did all of it begin?

I don't know what to tell her seeing as of how I'm not really sure myself but once that stupid fucking elf on the shelf came I've had no reason to come near it because I just fear it so much. Currently the elf in the shelf is the place in my mind that tells me when to recline in bed, the part that tells me I'm tired and need rest. I stay away from that as much as I can.

Not much talking is done when I'm at the therapist. She has me draw pictures. Pictures of figures that she then tries to understand when she grabs my hands and rubs them like some sort of person who I said had the right to touch me.

I tell my mom and we don't return back to the office. The elf is still there even two weeks later and my mom finds that out so soon we are right back inside an office that smells like too many candles have been burning. I can barely handle the smell that's churning inside my stomach and I'm learning that since I don't have a choice I better find my voice or these next years of my life will be like hell.

This one is a male, his breath is a bit stale but I ignore it because I really really like his beard. He doesn't have me do anything weird but he does however have a no looking rule that we have to close our eyes once the other person is taking and then my mom is walking out the door to give us privacy.

I guess you could say that the session was okay. I mean the elf is gone because I guess I was imagining it there, it wasn't really happening but now I realize that I need to be awake because when I close my eyes I have to hide. I have to hide from the demons that threaten my entire existence every time I'm having a remotely good day.

My mom says he was too expensive so we don't return. The bills start piling up and I learn that my mom doesn't earn nearly as much money as it takes to pay for my sessions.

However dropping them isn't an available option so a few days later where somewhere new that has walls that are more blue than the entire sky. Flowers are groomed neatly in there pots and although there are a lot it's still really neat.

I like her the best out of all of the places I've gone. Instead of jumping straight in with my new dreaded question, 'When did it all begin?' She takes time to get to know me and she shows me that she truly cares because she was there and knows that's it hard to overcome.

I learn about her too, she goes by Ruth but her actual name is Chysanthemum and I have no idea where Ruth came from but it's proof you can be whoever you want. She has kids too and they both are athletes who compete across the country on different teams winning meets.

My insomnia doesn't even come up but yet I feel like we talked about it the entire time I was there. I think it's actually fair to call this a breakthrough of our search of a therapist.

And after a few sessions and prescriptions my insomnia is melting away like a popsicle on a hot summer day.

The doctors thought I had insomnia.

I thought I did too because my bed wasn't much different from a couch because of the amount of times where I avoided it so I didn't look lazy. But now there different because now when I fall asleep on the couch mom wakes me up like a grateful grouch that is happy her daughter is sleeping.