Memoir of an Insomniac.

I toss and turn, shut my eyes tighter than ever, as if I were trying to shut out all the bright lights of the sky, full of stars. Please let me go to sleep now, Mr. Sandman, I have class soon.

No go.

I sit up, still covered by the comforter, propped up by my pillows. As I sigh, I think to myself, "it's another one of those nights..." I lean against the wall next to my mattress, propped high like a castle. I feel slightly nauseous, but nothing too serious as to warrant a trip to the bathroom. I breathe deeply, and try to calm myself down.

Wait, I am calm. What's wrong with me then? It's not like I've had significant amounts of stress; school has just begun, and I'm still on top of my game. It's not like I've eaten poorly; I've probably eaten a more balanced, more nutritious diet, which happens to be more food than I've ever eaten before in the same time frame. And yet, despite being mentally free and physically fit, I find myself unable to enjoy the sweet, refreshing benefits of a good night's slumber, almost destined to walk the lonely, quiet path of the darkest night.

I conjure up an image...no, multiple images. I start scrolling through them. I stop at each one, examining them, carefully switching to the next one, absorbing all that is offered between the pixels. Pictures are worth 1,000 words, or so they say, after all.

I love it when you're happy, enjoying yourself, finding all aspects of success. That smile of yours shines ever more radiant, living so carefree, and yet, it pierces me straight to the core. I hurt more so than you or I could ever understand. I find myself quivering, even when I'm still wrapped in my comforter and additional blankets.

This isn't a coldness that affects the physical; but rather, the emotional. Pictures; it drives me crazy, being unable to appear in that photo beside you, unable to elicit that kind of smile, that kind of joy in you, unable to do what I've wanted to do, and always wanted to do for so long. It bothers me that no matter what I do now is completely useless in distracting me away from thinking. You'll always come up, in some way, shape or form. The one thing that would be able, truly, to comfort me, cure me of this silly insomnia, is that very thing that you're unwilling to give...any more, at least. That smile...it drives me crazy.

I've probably been more than guilty of becoming complacent, taking one for granted, and yet, in all honesty, I couldn't imagine life without you. All the mistakes that I've made in the past, I can't change the past, but now it's even too late to atone for them. Backing myself into an inescapable plunge into the realm of failure and remorse, I guess I deserve all the credit...or is it blame? I have a terrible habit in setting myself up for failure, time and time again.

Someone once told me, on difficult situations, "when there is a will, there is a way." My will tells me to keep fighting, to continue struggling, to simply survive, but where is the way? I am lost, without a flashlight, in pitch darkness, with nothing but memories and a cold heartbeat that drums out the rhythm by which I must continue. I've heard that there is a "medicine" that supposedly heals everything; a panacea I simply don't have enough, and can't get enough. That elusive "cure"...is time.

But I bring into question: What do you do when time doesn't make you feel better, and happens to only makes your symptoms worse? What then?