Over thirty hours without zeds. Welcome to an insomniac’s life.
2 am. I’m trying every single method to get some sleep, none is crowned with success. Not even the strange proposition by one of my profs to “replace all vowels in the mother tongue when faling asleep”. I could create a whole new language if I would be able to concentrate on something for more than five minutes and still I would not fall asleep.
5 am. I last check time for the night. Texts to write, poems to compose, things to do, people to see, stuff to learn, texts to write, poems to compose, things to do, people I miss, stuff to learn. Confusing thoughts floating through my mind. I’m in a vicious circle and have no idea how I got into it. But I have to get out.
9.30 am. I finally get up. The headache makes me frenzied. My eyes close themselves without any conscious decision, but as soon as I’m on the journey to a world of wonderful nightmares reality brutally pulls me back. Adrenaline rushes every five minutes foreclose any attempt to get some REM sleep. I wouldn’t want to see my polysomnogram.
12 am. I get an abdominal pain. I’m not hungry. It feels like nausea. Only umpteen times worse. Maybe I should write some of the texts and poems down that keep recurring in my mind. They’re shoddy. But at least I’ll have something to do.
2.30 pm. I still didn’t get a single minute of sleep. How long can a human survive in such a condition? I feel like Christian Bale in El Maquinista. Is my wakefulness psychosomatic, too?