It is 1 A.M.

It is 1 A.M.

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I’m in bed, staring upwards into nothingness.

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My head is pounding. Every time my heart beats I can feel it in my skull. A bloody nuisance, but it’ll be fine once I fall asleep.

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I close my eyes as rogue thoughts flicker through my mind, flitting through imagination, memory, desire, and whatever other avenues the brain decides. It is always your decision, never mine; I’m just left watching and waiting to finally drift off.

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Something that happened last week. An action sequence. The main hook from a pop song I heard in passing yesterday. That feeling of a hand rubbing on rough carpet that always gives me goosebumps, cheers dickhead. What time is it? It is 1:27 A.M. I really should fall asleep soon. Yet the thoughts keep coming regardless. The taste in my mouth from dinner earlier. The dinner I had earlier. A memory from years back. That pop song hook again. What I have to do tomorrow. What I’ll do beyond that. This uneasy feeling in my gut. The uneasy feeling in my gut.

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Oh no.

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I’ve realised too late where my head is taking me: a downward spiral of doubt and fear, one of its favourite spots. I try to resist, try to think any other thought that might stem the oncoming tide. Those memories, those experiences, real or fake, maybe they can buffer it this time?  The feeling in my stomach persists, like butterflies but the butterflies are violently trying to claw their way out of me. The thoughts aren’t working; all of them are ringing with the background cacophony of uncertainty, only made louder by the silence of the room around me. I can’t get up. I need to get to sleep. It is 1:46 A.M.

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The butterflies have now ripped out a pit in my stomach, deep and empty and getting bigger. Or maybe it’s moving? It’s hard to tell. It steadily creeps upwards, passing my abdomen and going straight for my lungs. My heart starts beating faster as my lungs reach the pit’s precipice. My breaths get shorter. Louder. More frequent. I try to take some deep breaths. Each one is cut short. I should get up. I should do something. I’m not doing anything at the moment. I could be getting things done.

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But I need to sleep.

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It is 2 A.M.

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I struggle for breath as I sink deeper into my bed, tossing and turning but nothing is comfortable. I try to relax and once again clear my thoughts. No good. I curl up and close my eyes and try to sleep. No good. I feel the duvet on top of me get heavier, pushing me further into the mattress. Not good. The duvet compresses on my throat. I try to take a breath but no air gets to my lungs. I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

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It is 2:12 A.M.

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I sink ever deeper into the mattress; any slivers of light in the room disappear and leave me in pitch darkness. It would be comfy if I could get a lungful of air, but it feels like my next full breath is a ways away as the bed around me folds in on itself.

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I push back, and the bed finally starts to move, letting me push and reach my way through the dense fabric that’s entrapped me on all sides. I keep moving, I keep pushing. I don’t remember my bed ever being this deep, maybe it’s the memory foam? But that’s not that deep either. I’ll have to have a look when I get out.

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After a while of pushing, I finally reach a bit of a clearing and start to breathe a bit easier. It must be my room, but it’s way too dark to see anything. I reach for the walls but can’t feel a thing. Maybe I’ve shrunk? No, that’s stupid. I must be dreaming, that explains it. But the pounding headache is persisting, I can think straight, and no matter how hard I try I can’t summon a personification of my brain to beat the shit out of for all this. Can’t be a dream either, then, so what is it?

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I start to wander aimlessly through the dark clearing I’ve found myself in, hoping to bump into a wall and realise I was in my room the whole time.

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The wall doesn’t come, so I continue onward.

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Maybe I can just lie down and sleep until this is all over? I immediately feel how rough the ground is on my feet. Best not, then.

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As I’m walking, I see a faint light in the distance, the first in a while. I immediately start running towards it, hoping to God it’s some sort of escape. I feel sharp pains in my feet as I sprint. Hardly care at this point.

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I get closer, and can see a harsh red light as it emits from a crack in the ground. Getting closer still, I can see flickering shadows breaking the light that makes it to the surface. I stop running, and start to slowly approach the crack. Maybe it's a way out?

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The ground around the crack swells as I approach. There’s something underneath, trying to push and claw its way out. As I get closer, it becomes louder and more violent, pounding on my eardrums and the ground beneath me.

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I turn to run. The moment I do the ground erupts beneath me.

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It’s too late to escape it.

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A screaming cacophony rings through my ears as I become enveloped in a horrendous whirlwind. I close my eyes but can still see everything around me.

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Hollow faces, sheets of paper, butterflies, fabric, all swirling in a torrent. I clutch my ears and curl up. Before I can scream the storm wraps around my neck, choking me into silence.

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I try to struggle but cannot move.

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I shout for help but make no noise.

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I gasp for air but can draw no breath.

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It is 9 A.M.

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I gasp and bolt upright.

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I’m in bed, staring at the wall on the opposite side of my room.

 

My head is pounding and my neck is sore. At least that’s all that’s wrong with me now.

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I slowly crawl out of bed, stumbling as I hit the edge and nearly fall. I stumble over to the bathroom, holding the walls to support me as my grogginess slowly fades.

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Turning the tap on, I can’t decide whether to drink a bit, splash my face, or stick my head under running water for a while, so in the end I decide on letting it run while I stare gauntly back at myself in the mirror. A bad dream, I shouldn’t dwell on it much. I bend down and sip from the running tap before turning it off, and catch my vacant expression once more in the mirror as I leave the bathroom.

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My thoughts are completely scattered, firing off in all directions and barely leaving a coherent line of thinking behind. I feel at my neck, flinching from the pain of applying pressure to it. I must have just slept funny. Fucking annoying though. A bit more sure on my feet, I search the house for some painkillers and, upon finding them, wash a couple down with a glass of water. Maybe by the evening I’ll feel human again.

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Birds chirp outside as I sit in the kitchen, slumped over the table feeling half-dead and not looking much better. For once my mind is actually keeping silent which is appreciated, but whenever I try to recall that dream it all turns up hazy. Maybe forgetting about it is for the best. I get a lump in my throat and wash it down with some more water.

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Eventually I drag myself back to my room and turn on a computer.

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I need to do something.

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I have things to get done.

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It is 10 A.M.