Understanding Sore Eyes

Two nights ago I slept. It was the best feeling in the world. I woke up and felt this happiness I could hardly contain. Your body feels different, your thoughts wander differently. It had been just so long, I finally had to stop counting the days. You tell someone that you haven't slept in a week, in attempts to justify your actions, or emotions, and they won't  believe you. Someone who does not lie awake, and look at the clock an hour before it goes off, they could never understand. Tossing, turning. Dozing off in thirty minute intervals, or getting woken up for hours and hours once you finally slip unconscious. Seething, heart-broken, all sensations heightened, especially the tiredness. I've never been so worn out as trying to go to bed, as trying to stay asleep, as waking up hurting and sad and a blur. I slept two nights ago and the whole day was better, my whole life was hopeful. I was capable, alive. Last night I did not sleep, I worried the whole night through, I heard austin around two, I stared at the blinds around five. (My alarm at six thirty I can hardly remember.) The uncomfortability of being awake. I shift my legs endlessly, adjust pillows, look to the right, lay my head to the left, pull the blankets, wonder if music would help, turn the music off, kicking myself the whole night through for not taking sleeping pills, feeling hungry, being thirsty, dreading the coming day and replaying each exchange of the day(s) prior no matter their significance, creating to-do lists, breakfast, I think about everything I detest about myself, everything that needs fixing, all situations that I've already thought of but from someone else's point of view, recollecting my book, needing to contact everyone, thinking of school, and love, and failures, give and take, the hopeless future. I did not sleep last night, or the two weeks prior. It takes its toll, and no one really knows.

Synopsis