deeper

April 8, 2020

Dear Diary,

Sleep is a foreign term in my life. It is like a father who says he will come for dinner, but does not return to his family for days. Usually, I spend my nights lost in a book or trying, with lackluster results, to find a movie that I can manage to sit all the way through without skipping to the end. Some say that writing down my thoughts will help me sleep, but so far I don't believe them. Writing about the fears and hopes swirling around in my brain like an endless whirlpool will not make them go away, but amplify them. As I am writing this, that whirlpool has turned into a tidal wave, crashing into my already broken conscience. I don't know how many more of these blows I can take, but I hope, for my sake and for yours, I can figure out how to tame them.

Best for now,

your sleep deprived confidant

April, 2020 (It's too late to remember the date)

Dear Diary,

I needed someone to talk to. I fell asleep for a few minutes, but woke up just seconds ago. As I sat up, It felt as though a knife was being pressed into my heart. The stabbing pain of realization hit me harder than I expected. I looked around my barren apartment, taking in the view of my empty street. Hearing nothing but my pounding heart. Feeling numb, even under my warmest blanket. In every sense, I was alone. I was always told I would be surrounded by those I love and who love me during my life. Growing up, I always thought about how I began alone, and how I would end alone, but I never realized I would face the same dilemma in the chapters in between. At this point, I think I'm just rambling, and you're probably over me by now, but talking about my own dark thoughts is better than stewing in them. At least right now I am not alone. A few months ago, I would turn on the news and smile at the faces I saw in my pocket sized escape to the real world. I would create stories about each face. About their hopes and dreams, strengths and weaknesses. They became a part of my life. Now, all that I see are words. Thousands dead. Thousands infected. There are no more faces. No more stories. Just cold hard numbers, reminding me, like a splash of cold water, that I am next.

Best for now,

your sleep deprived confidant

sometime in 2020

Dear Diary,

I feel it crawling into my muffin in the morning. sneaking through my open window. Laughing at my meager attempts to stop it. The virus is waiting for it's opportunity. Like a cougar waiting for its prey to fall in its grasp, it enjoys playing this game. Somehow, I think if I don't fall asleep, it will be worried that I'll fight back and retreat. It's getting harder and harder to sleep as the days pass and I wait for my turn. In some ways, I hope this is my last late night entry, but in others, I pray for the next time I lay awake, uninfected.

Best for now,

your sleep deprived confidant

some day

Dear Diary,

It's been days, weeks, months, maybe years. Every bone, joint, eyelash is telling me to shut down. I can no longer look at myself in the mirror, for fear that my dark circles now mar my whole face. I lay in bed every day, praying that my mind will somehow concede. That it will grant me with even just an hour of peace. But every night when I settle into bed, my whirlpool reappears, the knife in my heart is being pushed deeper. It is too late to pull out the knife, too late to swim away from the pool. I am trapped alone in the dungeon that is my mind. I have no hope of escaping. The virus has passed, but in a weird way, it is affecting me now more than ever. Mom is gone. I thought my heart was empty, but somehow it managed to carve out more empty space. We hadn't talked in years. She had taken every measure to rid me from her mind since I had left, or at least I hoped she did. I left her to pursue my acting dreams leaving her with nothing. No job. No son. No love. Even when we lived together, we were living separate lives in different worlds. I just hope she moved on, and found someone else to love. I need to move on, I'm just not sure how yet. Getting a good night's sleep might be a good start.

Best for now,

your sleep deprived confidant

August 6, 2020

Dear Diary,

Tonight is the night. I just know it. I went in for an audition today, and they had me do stand up for some reason. So I just talked about my life, and apparently they liked it, and they want me to write on the show! They knew from the moment I walked on that stage that I wouldn't be bothered by working some late nights. This is the only time my dark circles worked in my favor. I may not talk to you for awhile, but maybe that's a good thing. When I did my stand up, I heard the casting directors laugh. LAUGH, And part of me wanted to laugh too. If I can keep this up, maybe I'll be able to sleep again. To dream again. To love again. My chapters may not be so empty anymore. When I close my eyes, the whirlpool is no longer pounding on my brain. It is s welcoming me, hoping that it can provide me with a safe cocoon for which to hope. When I close my eyes, my brain wants them to stay closed. Now that I am leaving you, I hope that you will not feel alone as I did. Maybe I'll give you to someone else so you are not consumed by your own whirlpool.

Best of luck,

your not so sleep deprived confidant