I can't sleep, or I'm afraid to sleep, to face the dreams that haunt me. It started last Friday night. My eyes are bloodshot, dark circles line my face, and I can't seem to find solace. Sunday morning I woke up, the light from my window burning my eyes and my head pounding. I don't work Sunday so I clean the house, I do laundry and veg out in front of the TV. Sunday night I wake up, my alarm clock is blinking, I had the same nightmare. I can't go back to sleep. I go through all day Monday feeling listless and tired. My boss tells me I look sick, I say I'm only tired.
I go home, I have a beer. I pass out on the couch. Three hours later I wake up, the nightmare fresh in my mind. I can't go back to sleep, I can't seem to find solace. Not even in drugs, I bought Vicadin from a friend on Tuesday. I pop three pills, three thousand milligrams, I need to sleep. But now I'm trapped inside the nightmare, I couldn't wake up, and when I did, my sheets were soaked and I had claw marks on my face.
I go to work Wednesday and drift around the restaurant, my mind unfocused. Customers complain that I forgot things, my boss calls me into the office to talk to me, I fell asleep. He sends me home after asking what's wrong with me. I can't tell him, I don't know. I manage to eat without throwing it up, I watch TV. I drink a pot of coffee, I don't want to sleep. I wake up on the couch, my pants are wet from the coffee I spilled. I go to the gym and climb on a treadmill, I start to run. Three hours later I pass out, I'm thirsty, I must've forgot to drink water.
Thursday night after work, I buy an eightball of cocaine from a friend. I'm determined not to let this nightmare grip me again. I brew a pot of coffee, I do lines all night. I type feverishly at the computer, the words I write meaningless and intelligible. I do more lines, I drink another pot of coffee. I'm awake, but I feel like I've been kicked by a mule. I go to work Friday morning, my boss sends me home and suggests I seek help. He's worried about me, I understand but I still don't know why this nightmare is haunting me.
I go and buy another eightball, I've been up for three days, I wonder if my mind is finally sick enough not to dream. My heart is sick, it's pounding so hard I feel like I have heartburn, my thoughts won't make sense anymore, words are mysteries that I can't comprehend. I smoke a cigarette but it made me sick to my stomach. I open a bottle of wine but it's tasteless, my throat is too numb. I try to lie down but the act of being prone causes my head to hurt again. I see dust on the TV and a sink full of dirty dishes. Someone must've thrown up in the sink, I see that too. Maybe I don't exist. Or maybe I'm in hell.
I take a shower, but I can't recognize the figure staring back at me in the mirror. My ribs are sticking out, maybe I should eat. Though I'd probably throw it up anyway. I do a few more lines, the eightball is nearly gone. I cut my arm with the razor, I want to know if I can feel. I don't, but I am mesmerized by the blood streaming down and how it pools on the carpet. I laugh, I wonder just how big of a puddle I can make it. I reach for the razor again.
And that's when I wake up screaming. I've had this dream three nights in a row. I usually don't analyze my dreams, but this one kind of frightened me. What is my mind trying to tell me? Is there a meaning or is this the product of my imagination? But what really worries me, like in the dream, tonight is the fourth night. If I dream it again, will I buy pills tomorrow? Did I just dream my own future, did I just witness my own...? Great, now I'm scared to fall asleep.
Fuck, I miss Daniel right now.