Fire on Water

It’s hard to loosen the grip of the chain shackling around the foot and run away towards and beyond the border, if the ghost chasing behind me is I myself.

And it’s awfully disturbing, utterly suffocating. Like someone who has extreme fear with narrow places. Or like someone who’s drowning in the midst of congested crowds. Or a person perturbed by uncertainty during the long night.

Sighs.

I can’t fucking sleep. Again.

This is the third week now, after a few months of achieving a peaceful and complete sleep. It’s already past two in the morning, yet my eyes won’t shut still even for a wink. My eyes were openly dilated for minutes; until minutes became hours. My body was completely in idle as I stare hardly what’s above my sight, as the emptiness of the ceiling slowly devours my entire state of mind.

Though I admit during the first night, I immersed myself in binge-watching an anime series to reward myself from partially depriving myself to my interests because I exhaust myself in work for I am a huge corporate slave of capitalism and money. But I didn’t feel guilt that I had relished myself for an anime.

I also don’t want to cleanse my hands and act because I seem to be denying the fact that I’m actually drifting away from the reality just to seek a way for excitement through a mere animated series. But personally, I’d say I deserve such indulgence of leisure for such a long time.

However, when the next night came and fro, it was already both a mess and chaos that I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why. And it feels like I’m back to square one once again. The endless ticking sound of the hands of the clock that rings constantly on my ears. A growing animosity in the thin that gets thicker as time passes by, suffocating my airway due to the anxiety that slowly surfaces on my chest.

I hate feeling like this. The friction, the hard breathing. I hate it. I fucking hate it since I thought I was getting better, that I was successfully getting away from this pit of misery though with slow progress.

But why am I crippling back into the void I wanna runaway from for the nth time around?

Ugh. Frustrating it is that I can’t help but to bury my face on my pillow and hurdle my enraged screams I kept within. Nothing can help at this moment, really. Not even the cigarettes, nor the fake happy thoughts I created in my head. Nothing. All are useless for I lack the will to pursue everything, too.

As much as I want to take my usual melatonin pills, I temporarily stopped intaking my prescribed sleeping pills for a while since the side effects get worse the more I drink my medications. Although the pills will be a huge help for me to fall asleep, I have to deal with the other pain that I might feel physically. I’m already having a hard time on resolving my mental conflicts, and I’d totally lose my shit if I’d start feeling physical illness. So, not in the meantime, yet. For the best.

Prevention is better than cure, as they always proclaim, right?

Besides, there are alternative ways to lull myself to sleep which can be found online since I researched for the ways to get lost in trance so eventually I’ll get carried away from the persuasion of my soft mattress. Funny thing is, I tried almost all the ways listed and indicated on websites. Drinking cold milk in the afternoon or hot milk at night, taking a shower with lukewarm water, and many others. I even tried listening to ‘Don’t Stay Awake for Too Long Podcast’ and ‘Honey, Go to Sleep’ Twitter Space, which are top recommended audio stations that broadcast about effective sleeping.

Fortunately, it worked for me temporarily for four (4) days during the first week of sleepless nights. I can fall asleep easily because of the soothing voice of the hosts and speakers. However, just like any methods I’ve tried, it didn’t last long—which was utterly frustrating. Because instead of falling asleep right away, I enjoyed myself listening to the content of the podcast. I would even prepare a snack so I have something to munch on while listening to it, may it be a cereal or a sandwich. Basically, it turned out as my past-time outlet in the middle of the night. So, that method was crossed out from the list and I eventually jumped onto the next one.

And worse luck, for the first time, I ran out of ways on how to knock out myself to sleep. Well, there’s a real last option that exists but it weighed a lot of contemplation before getting my head into it.

Masturbation. Foreplay. Pleasuring oneself.

The next mechanism I sought got me initially have second thoughts whether I’d do it or not, since doing it is utterly new to me, to my body. I’m already 23, exactly at age where I can fully and freely explore adult things to myself. My sexual desires are present (though I am yet to be sexually active) but the thought of touching myself never cross my mind. Not because I think it’s a filthy work (honestly, people my age may have done this normally ofttimes), it’s just that I’m really not into it and I have no one to do the thing with.

Or simply just not my thing, it is.

But when I read an article that masturbation causes relaxation and makes oneself falls asleep easily, and in desperate attempt to get into slumber, I ended my doubts and tried it right away on the fifth night of the first week.

It felt refreshing, as if something ticklish was creeping into my skin and the sensation flares up every time I reached the climax of playing with myself. On the first try, I felt guilty because I was not used to it. There were inner awkwardness in the while I was doing that but soon I got used to it and was experiencing the sleep I always hoped for. It’s a tiresome method but I fall asleep faster compared to other solutions I’ve been doing before.

Also, this routine continued until the middle of the second week, serene and without any other interruption of unwanted disturbances. But this time again, my eyes are fully awake. I already did it. I even took a hot shower the aftermath before I’ll tuck in myself to sleep. I wore my pajamas, turned on my lamp to its most dimmed luminescence. Still, none has worked. It was upsetting. I was very, very upset.

This whole situation is frustrating, too, and it’s getting into my nerves. I feel like that was the last resort of mine yet still it isn’t long lasting. Did my body give up from excessive self-pleasure? Have I ran out from my sweet juices? I swear, it’s making me fucking crazy like a deluded lost cause.

What else shall I sacrifice just to have an ample amount of sleep?

How long shall I endure this grief?

The answer is, probably, I don’t know. Perhaps, I will suffer as long as I can suppress, as long as my body won’t decay abruptly.

I hit my cheeks with a light slap and stood up, thinking about unwinding outside during this unearthly time. I switched the light mode of lamp into the brightest mode. I sauntered towards my closet and pulled my jacket because surely the weather’s freezing cold outside. Before I left, I lit a cigarette and glanced for a second in the mirror to see if I’m still recognizable as a human and not a ghost wandering around endlessly.

But what I saw in the mirror is a person who attained severe damage than those materials thrown at the junk shop. Dark circles under my eyes, reddened cheek from the hit I caused myself, and pale lips with dead skins peeling off. Plus my disheveled hair too, completed my ragged form. Nearly—so close to be perceived as a living zombie that could star in a film.

Sighs.

Why am I even alive at this point?

Rather than finding an intricate answer for the question, in the end, I just blew off a mist in the mirror, and kissed the dry glass with the red lipstick I applied on my chapped lips before I walked out of my condominium.

Screw this fucking life.