I could probably list out all the things that make me scared at night or I could probably list out several other things that haunts me while I lay awake at night desperately dreading the stillness of the night and wishing and hoping that sleep would come to me so much easier, like it used to. But it doesn’t. Not only had insomniatic patterns romanticised themselves in my head along with fatal illnesses, but it had also created this void that desperately needed to be filled with something or the other;be it food or a boy or just love for something, like rain or the taste of cheap beer as I smack my drying lips. I turned corners and pages, I shuffled through boys and cards all at once only to realise this void left me feeling more distant and more content but at the same time, very much alone.
I am not an insomniac. I am not a monster. But there’s always one that dwells within all of us, waiting and preying for the moment when it can finally blossom in to the dreaded curse we all so easily give in to.
And the funny part? Despite knowing this, we still let it grow out of control. We let it take over.