I can't sleep

No, not because of the demons that normally torment me.
Tonight is different.

I creep downstairs
Footsteps light, floorboards creaking slightly.
My father is playing Fleetwood Mac on the loudspeakers.

Over Stevie Nicks' smooth, crooning voice I tell him to turn it down, in barely a whisper;
"I'm tired, dad.
Let me sleep.
Play it tomorrow."

I walk into the kitchen and mother is there
Awake, still.
Working.
For the both of us.
Both of her useless children.

I take a glass of milk and sit beside her by the dining table,
Jewels strewn across a cloth,
And listen to her excitedly tell me about her designs
With my eyelids half mast

I finish my milk and walk away
A silent goodnight escapes my lips, barely open.
I leave her to her work.

I take a glance at my father; he's watching The View now.
I walk up the stairs again, silent as a mouse.

I can't sleep.

Is this all there is?
I wake up
I go to school
or maybe I'll have a bit of food before I go back to sleep again.

I brush my teeth
I take a ****
I look at myself in the mirror
I brush my hair

Every morning is almost the same
I text you, or you text me.
We talk for hours
sometimes even talking while I'm *******
and we're fine with that

In school, I listen
I look around
smile at people
I don't usually get a smile back, but I don't really care.

I get home in the afternoon
lie down on my bed
maybe cook
I guess I'm spontaneous that way.

I'm in love
I'm in pain
I'm lonely
I'm annoyed

I look at my skin and I feel like I could do better
but I just say "**** it" and move on

It's monotonous
It's repetitive

But if I could do it all with you

I'm fine with it.

You hear about the sleepless nights
The crying, the suicidal thoughts.
The cloudy days when it's sunny
And the thunderstorms in the cool breeze

You hear about the support groups
The suicide hotlines, the public outcry.
#westandwith__, #alwayskeepfighing,
The sad poems and the sad playlists.

But you never hear about the reality

The way depression looms over your head,
Not as a cloud, but as a faceless mass
Of pure darkness, that paints a smile on your face
So people don't notice you're hurting

It's the feeling of complete and utter nothingness,
When you sit in class and stare at the teacher
But don't hear a thing he's saying because you're too sad, too upset to move or think.

It's the paranoia that you feel
When your friends leave you for a split second
That feels like minutes, then feels like hours.
It's the loneliness that sets in
While numbers and friends are within arm's reach.

It's the messy room, the scraps of chocolate wrappers on the floor.
The piles of laundry you haven't touched in weeks.
The homework you've been putting off because you were too ******* sad to do it
The pain on your lover's face when he realised he can't do anything
And the pain on yours when you hate seeing him in pain
And the cycle goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on

...

It's the constant apologising.

The constant self-hatred.

The self-medication with good things and movies but nothing seems to work.





I just want to be okay.

Midnight
You drop the call
And I drop the phone.
I say goodnight
And try to sleep.

I search the long-abandoned rooms in my mind
For a song to put me to sleep
And I hear a familiar tune
Waft through a room that’s forever frozen
In a cloudy, but lovely day in the middle of September, 2016.
It’s a room I abandoned so long ago.

It’s been lingering for a while
I just haven’t noticed.
Listening to the old playlists does that to you, I guess.
But the memories flood back.

The messages, the voicemails, the questions-
What’s your favourite hat? What’s your favourite bean?
Questions I’ve asked you, my love.
And I’m sorry
But I’ve asked them before.
With different answers, from a very different man.

At first it was a trickle
Nothing major, just drops.
And then the tune played
Over and over

The floodgates opened, and memories poured down upon my brain
Knives and scraps of steel and alcohol mixed with the water
His name
Over and over
A name I’ve tried so hard to forget
And then tried so hard to bludgeon when I couldn’t.

It’s 3am.
And now I recall all the names.
Everyone I’ve lost, every single name that could break me.
Every single one.
Now I know what living with regret feels like
Now I know what it feels like to be broken
Now I know what it feels like to die,
Just a little bit inside, every day.

Now I know pain.
Now I know life.

It’s 2:38am in the morning
Why I can’t sleep, I don’t know.
I usually sleep earlier than you do.

I feel the poetry spill from my fingers
Onto the keyboard
And slip through the crevices in the keys
As I stare at the tiny, ever-spinning
Rainbow pinwheel of death

I’m grabbing at my nightgown
Because, in my boredom
I’ve set my hair into curlers.
I don’t exactly know what’s the point
But whatever man

Poetry.
Why do I write poetry?
It’s a pastime. A hobby.
Something to organise my thoughts when they’re as messy as my hair when we drive through the countryside and you roll down the windows to give me some fresh air
Away from the city

I’m tired, baby.
And I can’t sleep with the demons whispering sweet, lonely, empty nothings into my head.
Why won’t they let me sleep

I want you to talk to me.
not with dumb, one-line responses.
Give me effort.
Give me something to talk about.

I want you to talk to me.
Not with a "how u doin"
Give me a statement.
Give me a question to answer.

To he honest, I don't know why I'm asking for so much
when your poetry proves you can only give me little.

My heroes growing up
were golden-haired princes
and gun-toting superspies
that would crash through my bedrom windows
and whisk me away
to a world more beautiful than this one.

My heroes as a young, ***** teenager
were the scruffy rebels.
Sid Vicious. Joan Jett. Amy Lee.
Gerard Way. Brendon Urie.
who would scream their ways through my bleeding ears
and pierce my heart like needles,
And stir my pre-pubescent *** drive like a raunchy letter to a middle-aged, dissatisfied wife.

My heroes changed as I grew older
As my standards became lower for them.
because I thought i didn't deserve anything.

The man across the street who smiled at me.
The man who offered me a towel when I threw up on the bus.
The classmate who gave me directions once.

Then I met you, and you saved me.
Like the golden-haired prince
and gun-toting spy
from my dreams.

But today

One came in the form of a lady who bought a necklace from my mother.
And now we can afford two coffees instead of one.

Modern-day heroes.
****, I need to learn to save myself.