Heavy & Light
Sleep
“I haven’t slept in four days,” I blurted to the woman at the check in desk. I don’t remember driving to the emergency room -- but it was 3 A.M. and I was somehow here. She looked concerned as she handed me a clipboard full of paperwork and told me to have a seat. As I sat down I began to think why I was even here. I hated hospitals. The smell made me nauseous and brought back all the memories I’ve worked to forget. My hand shook while I filled out line after line. Behind me, the television was mumbling softly about a shooting at LAX airport. Everything was starting to blur together by the time I went to sign the bottom. My mind was begging for sleep but I couldn’t allow it. Eight Monsters later, I was here -- feeling like my heart was going to explode, feeling like my whole world was going to cave in and crush me.
“Austin?”
Stumbling to my feet I followed the nurse out of the waiting room. It was a long morning after that. My resting heart rate was 124. There were blood tests, a urine sample… A flock of people rushed into the room after my monitor went into a frenzy for the third time that morning. Most of them cycled out once they saw the tears. I was heaving for a breath. The thoughts in my head wouldn’t stop cycling. I swear that the walls were starting to close in on me… The doctor sat with me until I calmed down and was able to explain. It started with the bad dreams after mom died. I could handle those by just shaking it off and rolling back over into my pillow. But they got worse. Sometimes I could stop them with NyQuil but then that stopped working. I would wake up screaming and thrashing, often times crying. I told the doctors I didn’t want to sleep because I was afraid. I told them that I forced myself to stay awake but then would often think of suicide. I was afraid of dying suddenly like my mom but the idea of taking my own life sometimes seemed like my only option.
I was discharged from the emergency room but was brought to wing 6H -- the psychiatric ward. The doctors threw around words like: anxiety, depression, night terror disorder… I was too tired to comprehend so I just nodded. It was now 7:46 A.M. and I was signing a waiver to be taken in as an inpatient. My dad tried to get me to see a therapist after my mom died. He tried again after my nightmares started getting to the point where I woke up screaming in a cold sweat. But I didn’t want to see a therapist. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was too afraid. I was afraid of what people would say and I was afraid of what I would find out.
I was given two white pills and brought down a hallway. Everything was white. White walls, white coats, white smiles… I tried to pretend I didn’t completely stick out against the stark paleness of everything. All I wanted was to disappear, but that’s hard when you’re 6’4. The voice of the doctor who was holding me lightly by the arm broke me away from my thoughts.
“You’ll be room mates with Alan.”
I was expecting to see someone crazy staring at myself and the doctor when the door was flung open. Instead, both twin beds were empty.
“He’s at a group meeting, he’ll be back later. In the mean time, get some sleep.”
That word, sleep, hung in my mind like a parasite -- still ringing even after the door had been shut. Sleep? I barely knew the meaning of the word anymore.
The right side of the room had assumably been claimed by whoever Alan was. The bed was disheveled, one blanket practically on the floor. In the air lingered a faint scent of cigarette smoke even though I had been told there was absolutely no smoking allowed. Without much thought I crawled into my new bed. My heart rate was steady and normal. The little white pills they had given me were getting me to believe that maybe sleep was an option. I stared over at the opposite side of the room, catching sight of a bunched up Suicide Silence t-shirt before my eyes closed.
“Austin?”
Stumbling to my feet I followed the nurse out of the waiting room. It was a long morning after that. My resting heart rate was 124. There were blood tests, a urine sample… A flock of people rushed into the room after my monitor went into a frenzy for the third time that morning. Most of them cycled out once they saw the tears. I was heaving for a breath. The thoughts in my head wouldn’t stop cycling. I swear that the walls were starting to close in on me… The doctor sat with me until I calmed down and was able to explain. It started with the bad dreams after mom died. I could handle those by just shaking it off and rolling back over into my pillow. But they got worse. Sometimes I could stop them with NyQuil but then that stopped working. I would wake up screaming and thrashing, often times crying. I told the doctors I didn’t want to sleep because I was afraid. I told them that I forced myself to stay awake but then would often think of suicide. I was afraid of dying suddenly like my mom but the idea of taking my own life sometimes seemed like my only option.
I was discharged from the emergency room but was brought to wing 6H -- the psychiatric ward. The doctors threw around words like: anxiety, depression, night terror disorder… I was too tired to comprehend so I just nodded. It was now 7:46 A.M. and I was signing a waiver to be taken in as an inpatient. My dad tried to get me to see a therapist after my mom died. He tried again after my nightmares started getting to the point where I woke up screaming in a cold sweat. But I didn’t want to see a therapist. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was too afraid. I was afraid of what people would say and I was afraid of what I would find out.
I was given two white pills and brought down a hallway. Everything was white. White walls, white coats, white smiles… I tried to pretend I didn’t completely stick out against the stark paleness of everything. All I wanted was to disappear, but that’s hard when you’re 6’4. The voice of the doctor who was holding me lightly by the arm broke me away from my thoughts.
“You’ll be room mates with Alan.”
I was expecting to see someone crazy staring at myself and the doctor when the door was flung open. Instead, both twin beds were empty.
“He’s at a group meeting, he’ll be back later. In the mean time, get some sleep.”
That word, sleep, hung in my mind like a parasite -- still ringing even after the door had been shut. Sleep? I barely knew the meaning of the word anymore.
The right side of the room had assumably been claimed by whoever Alan was. The bed was disheveled, one blanket practically on the floor. In the air lingered a faint scent of cigarette smoke even though I had been told there was absolutely no smoking allowed. Without much thought I crawled into my new bed. My heart rate was steady and normal. The little white pills they had given me were getting me to believe that maybe sleep was an option. I stared over at the opposite side of the room, catching sight of a bunched up Suicide Silence t-shirt before my eyes closed.
This story is great! Are you going to continue writing
8/17/14