I stare at the ceiling, willing my body to fall asleep. But I know I won't be able to close my eyes again, if only to restrain the torrent of images pounding at my tired brain like a rowdy, drunken mob. This is my sleep. Every day. I can even time it like clockwork.
9:30 - Go to bed. Close eyes.
4:45 - Run into nightmares. Open eyes. Allow heart to pound as you panic and try and fail to stop the pictures flowing into your brain.
5:00 - Feel moment of self-pity. Dream about a good night's sleep. Lie awake for an hour.
6:00 - Alarm goes off. Cuss under breath and slap the snooze button.
6:05 - Alarm goes off. Attempt to smother clock with pillow.
6:10 - Figure out how to turn off alarm and get up.
Of course, I don't have to sleep at 9:30, but I've found that less sleep makes no difference to my nightmares. But earlier bedtimes seem to dim the vivid flashes that accompany my dreams, so I make an effort to pull at least seven hours.
Every day, these nightmares appear. They never grow old, or less terrifying. In fact, they've only grown more intense since the incident eight years ago. Too long. It's been too long since I've had a dreamless sleep.
I suppose I could see a shrink. But...
Is there really something wrong with me?
Stupid question. I know exactly what's wrong with me. There's just...
...nothing I can do about it.
It's not easy to love my life. But I try my hardest anyways.
I shower and brush my teeth, scouring every inch of my body and mouth to wash it away.
Six years, and it's still here.
A haunting reminder of the incident. As if I needed another one; the dreams are more than enough to keep me awake.
Speaking of which, I spent yesterday night trying to teach myself a particularly hard song, and my fingers were not as synched with my violin as they should have been. And my stubbornness guaranteed that I would stay up until 1:30 am forcing myself to practice until my hand went numb. I'm tired. Really tired. And my manager's already pissed at me because last week I dropped a kitchen knife and, had it not been for his stellar reflexes, he would not be walking right now. I don't need the income to live. But I do want to enroll in college one day...a real college, one that could get me somewhere in life. I wouldn't mind working as a medical technician. The human body has always fascinated me, and I've aced all the classes necessary in high school. I have the grades. I was on the cross-country team, and I did a lot of volunteer work. My culmative GPA was one of the highest in the class, as were my test scores, I'm sure I could get in if I...
If I had the money to do it.
Always the money. I've applied for countless scholarships. They always end in rejection. I'm just not good enough. And of course, there's the other thing.
I graduated from a public school. Why didn't I go to a private school? Money. It's always the money.
My manager understands my situation. It's why he didn't fire me when I almost sliced his foot off. Or when I accidentally served ice cream to a lactose-intolerant customer. Or when I almost burnt down the kitchen.
