A plea to the rest I cannot seem to grasp
I know it’s getting worse when I wake up in a daze.
When my lights are still on and my computer is still open; when my music is still playing and I have papers still scattered around my bedroom floor; that’s when I know it’s getting worse.
When I fight to stay awake when I’m taking notes, or better yet, a test; when I circle the wrong answer over and over again meaning to circle a different option; that’s when I know it’s getting worse.
When the littlest things set me over the edge; when I can feel the unwanted tears well up and the lump in my throat starts to grow; that’s when I know it’s getting worse.
I hate it when my eyes start to shake. I hate it when I snap out of my almost-sleep and see random words on my paper that have nothing to do with environmental science. I loathe the feeling of overall hopelessness when I can’t do anything else but simply fight to stay awake.
Every. Single. Day.
Coffee helps, but only sometimes. I’ve tried energy drinks, but they only make my brain foggy. What I truly need is sleep, but I can never seem to grasp that.
I would spend an entire week hoping to go back in time when my bedtime was 8:30 and my only worries were bumblebees and thunderstorms.”
It is funny, however, when I approach a night where I can rest peacefully. An evening when it’s only 11:30 and I can easily lay my head on my pillow and curl up in my layers of blankets.
But then I feel guilty.
I feel like I should be doing something useful, something that isn’t resting. I come up with things for myself to do, things that aren’t due for days. I stay up until I check my phone and see that it says 1:00. Then, I finally allow my head to succumb to the enticing pillow and let my mind wander free as I drift into a short slumber.
Every day is spent the same now: fatigue so grand I can feel it in my eyes, my chest, my stomach. I have people telling me to get more sleep, but I simply answer with the two words I hate most strung together:
Believe me, if I could, I would spend an entire week cooped up in my bedroom with my fan on high and the lights blacked out, hoping to win back the years of sleep lost. I would spend an entire week hoping to go back in time when my bedtime was 8:30 and my only worries were bumblebees and thunderstorms.
I’m tired of the headaches. I’m tired of the permanent dark circles under my eyes. I’m tired of canceling plans to stay in and do homework until 1 a.m.
I am tired.