Of Course You Don't Know

To no-one.

April 3, the middle of the night

It gets too hard to handle sometimes, I swear. I could feel it, tugging at me, but I couldn’t open my eyes.

It didn’t have a physical form. It was just a force, just this slight pulling sensation, and I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it.

I know that I’m just making it up, I get that. But the shadows play tricks on me, and sometimes it’s like I’m stuck in the head of a child. No, not stuck in it, but I just have the mind of a child. I’m too scared about what’s not real to worry about the things that are. I’m trying to avoid being sick so hard that I make up other problems.

Maybe not, though. I could swear I felt something, even just a little bit, just the tiniest hint of a feeling. But I could swear that I did.

I didn’t open my eyes because I was too scared that I’d see it; I’m always too scared that I’ll see it. I wonder if maybe it’s death that’s haunting me, nudging me along, pulling a string that urges the sickness into its final stage. I wasn’t asleep though, because I was too scared, awaiting its arrival. I knew it would come.

I only have a fever, you know. And I know. I can’t help but make it more dramatic than it is.

Maybe it wasn’t death, maybe it was just a good dream. Maybe it was just sleep, missing me, wishing me to come back. I’ve been hearing its murmurs from time to time, but we haven’t spoken in days. I’ve been trying, I have, but I keep just missing the train.

I sound crazy. You know I’m crazy, so it’s okay.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m insane. I have a fever and think that death is upon me. I won’t go to sleep because I feel something invisible tugging me down, so lightly it might just be a trick of my mind.

It might not be invisible though.

I only opened my eyes after it was gone, after it knew that I wouldn’t give in. I never open my eyes until after it’s gone.

Maybe I should try it, later, when it comes for me again.

Unless it doesn’t come again.

Haha! I’m funny.

I’m crazy.

When I was little, my sister would tell me it was coming. I asked her what and she couldn’t answer. It was so vague, and it was so lacking. Sometimes I’d just hear her whisper my name from the bed beside me, just barely, and whisper, It’s coming.

I don’t want to remember.

One day she was crying, remember? You don’t remember because you’re nobody. Of course you don’t remember.

She stopped saying it was coming when she got older, when she was eleven or twelve. She must have come to her senses, as she grew up, because I remember the last time she mentioned it, when she was young. It was hot in the room, and the fan was on, and there was a glint of the street lamp peeking into our room, lighting her face, so I could see the lines making up her expression. She turned her neck in a crooked way, and she stared at me with eyes so wide I thought they would pop out. I did, I was young, remember. I remember the red of the veins, and it wasn’t as creepy as it was frightening to me. She whispered my name, like she always did, and she said, It’s coming, and her voice cracked, and then she turned her back to me.

Then she didn’t talk to me for days.

Then she didn’t mention it again, and life went on.

It scared me, worse than anything. I’d ask her about it during the day and she’d shrug me off, saying she didn’t know what I was talking about. What was worse is that I always knew she meant it.

She must have been eleven or twelve. I said that already, didn’t I?

I remember the worst night. She was sixteen, remember?

Of course not.

She was crying, but it was dark, so I couldn’t see her. It was well after midnight, and she’d said she was going to bed hours before. I could here her sniffling. I asked her what’s wrong so many times I thought she’d turned deaf, because she didn’t answer.

Until, finally,

Would you shut up?

So I did. Then,

I’m sorry,

Barely a whisper.

Louder, she said my name, stabbed me with it, and I froze, because she hadn’t said my name like that in years.

And two words that kind of changed me, but I can’t tell if they really did (I’m crazy, remember.) She said,

It’s here.

And stopped crying. And went to sleep.

She didn’t mention it again, but she didn’t change. At least, not that I can tell..

So it isn’t death.

I asked her about it only once. She didn’t remember, and I could tell it was the truth

And to be completely honest, there’s something about this thing that scares me more than the rest.

I know that I’ve felt it before, but I can’t remember when

I’m almost positive that during the day, I don’t remember, either. Not any of it.

It wouldn’t be so scary if my sister never mentioned it. It wouldn’t be so scary if she hadn’t forgotten.

But, she did, and she did, and she did, and she did, and she did, and she did and she did

It makes me doubt myself

It makes me confused.

Maybe if I read this, if I see it tomorrow, I’ll remember, maybe.

Maybe I’m not writing at all.

I just don’t know anymore. Haha.

Funny.

Not funny.

If I open my eyes, what will I see?

When it’s not coming, I can tell. If I can’t sleep, I’ll just lay awake, with my eyes open.

I can only keep them open for so long though, because then the shadows start inching towards me. And then I have to sleep, because I don’t want to know what happens when they get closer.

I wonder if it even does anything at all. I wonder if all it causes is spiraling anxiety, slow descents into insanity. At least, when you know about it. Not enough to do any harm, just causing worry. Maybe, when it’s had enough, it’s ready to let go, ready to give you back your sanity, it finally makes it.

That would make sense.

But I’m almost too scared to believe that it’s harmless.

Almost.

I would believe if it was just in my mind.

And now,

it’s coming

and I’ll keep my eyes open

I want to know

what it looks like

getting closer.

almost here

and-

*

*

*

To no-one.

April 3, the middle of the night

Yuck. I’m so sick.

I puked in the bathroom. Tasted like gross.

I’m hungry.

I have this feeling looming over me. Like, just a little bit of a hazy cloud on my thoughts. I’ve been in and out of sleep all night, so it would make sense that I’m dazed.

I feel like I’m going crazy. I’m not getting enough sleep. I haven’t slept a full night in days.

I hope I get better soon.

I want a hot dog

I remember my sister used to go crazy. I just barely remember that she scared me sometimes, and said that something was wrong

no, a hot dog is too filling

She was always so dramatic…

Maybe she was just talking about this, about cloudy thoughts.

It’s three in the morning but I want oat meal

I just had to put some of my thoughts down, that’s all. To dehaze them.

no, oat meal is too watery

Sometimes, I have to write out my mind to know what I’m thinking, I have to spill it all onto a page. My thoughts go so fast sometimes there’s no time to process them. Then sometimes they’re so hazy I can’t see them through the clouds.

The only way I can see them clearly is to slow them down and write them out.

Even if it’s nothing important, it helps me think clearly.

So, that’s all.

You know, I don't feel like talking to anyone, nobody should have to see me like this.

I don’t even want to get better soon. I like walking around in blanket cocoons and watching tv all day and eating so much soup.

Soup!

I feel better. I didn’t want to sit around in my own presence and the taste of puke in my mouth.

I’ll go eat soup now.

And I’ll write soon. It’s been a few days since I last wrote, and we can’t have that happen again

So

That’s that. Wish me good soup.