Becoming Untouchable

o

Chapter Four – Symptoms May Vary

o

I have been finding it progressively more difficult, as of late, to permit my mind and body the rest it requires. Sleep has been impossible, and resistant to my every attempt to chase it.

o

There has simply not been enough time in the day to assess the situation I face and how best to approach it. I have examined every plausible angle, to no avail. There does not seem to be a way around hurting him, and myself as a result. Of course, I shudder to think that it will matter after tonight's revelation.

o

I cannot help but to feel empty and lifeless. Perhaps sleep deprivation has finally taken its toll on my psyche; what I should feel must be hidden somewhere beneath the exhaustion, I am almost certain. I realize that if I do not succumb to sleep soon, the emotions may never resurface properly. Or, if they do, they will be mere ghosts of what they once were – as far as I know, I did feel once, so there is a chance, however slight, that I may feel again in future. Theoretically. Or, perhaps, I am truly the lifeless puppet I have feared becoming for so very long. I sincerely hope my insomnia is to blame for my utter lack of emotion or concern, regarding everything, from keeping in touch with friends, to family matters, to the resolution of my own internal conflicts.

o

And so I turn to an avenue that, once pursued, is irreversible. At least for a short while. I can very well predict what would happen should I choose to avoid it. And that outcome is far less favorable.

o

I pick up the small box, and take a moment to briefly examine it, although I am aware of its contents and how to proceed. It is just more comforting to go through the motions as if I had not already done this several times in the past. Clinically proven to relieve occasional sleeplessness. In whose clinic? I wondered. And certainly none of the trial subjects suffered from my unique brand of sleeplessness. That would be odd, to say the least. I flip over the box, carefully, though, as to not strain my wrist. Take one tablet at bedtime, with water, when sleep is difficult to achieve. For my sake, let us hope that soda will be a sufficient substitute for water. I scarcely have time or energy to count out a dosage, suffice it to say that one never works as prescribed anyway, so I have a few. Though I do not recall the exact number. No matter, for soon I will be in Orpheus' embrace, and something so inconsequential will cease to be of importance.

o

It hits me all at once, as I struggle uselessly to find a comfortable position on my mattress. It is far too hard, unrelenting. And cold, some chill has managed to seep in through my window despite my best efforts to close it up. After an hour I am finally reacting to what I took an hour ago. How many was it? Suddenly I feel my cheeks flush with heat, I cannot move... I feel as if I am recoiling from a punch to the chest. The wind is knocked out of me, it probably will not return for a time, it must be going on vacation.... Yes, a vacation sounds nice; somewhere sunny, I think, where they put the little umbrella in your drink as you... what?

o

My eyes are wide open and yet the texture of my ceiling seems off, blurred somehow, and the colors on my ceiling fan run together in a sick mockery of a rainbow. Rainbow. Skittles. What was I saying? Oh yes. I reach up to rub my eyes, clear the blurriness a little, and my hand falls short of its target and proceeds to lay limply on the infernally uncomfortable mattress. I feel hot, but for the life of me my limbs will not cooperate; I would remove my covers, if it were humanly possible, but I cannot. Well, the bed is not that uncomfortable, perhaps a little extra warmth in winter should not be so readily dismissed. I am bordering on the edge of sleep I can tell, but my mind refuses to halt its chatter for the benefit of my bodily recuperation.

o

I allow my mind to empty, only to find that mental emptiness is detrimental to the process of drug-induced slumber. So, instead, I will resume the long standing tradition of daydreaming before bed, I suppose, and surely that will help my consciousness wither into non-being. I imagine what would happen if someone were to come into my bedroom in the next few moments, and attempt to rouse me... although my eyes are cracked open, I am far from the waking world. That much is certain. Only, how would they react? Would I be woken, or forcibly restrained and taken somewhere with white walls, and the hovering scent of death to fill the spaces between them? I would hope not... Would they discover what I had done to create such a self-imposed catatonia? I cannot be sure.. what I can do is assure myself, in the meantime, that my assumptions are baseless; it's not as if I did anything morally questionable. All I did was ensure that I slept tonight, albeit unnaturally so. But what of it? My thoughts are gradually rendering themselves incoherent, and irretrievable. So I must be close to sleep. It makes me worry, it has never effected me so rapidly, so thoroughly, as it has tonight. Oxygen has become scarce, I must be off to dream land, but I cannot help but wonder...

o

How many did I take?

o

A/N: Sominex is a bitch. Ambien is much worse.