The String

It’s been harder to sleep, recently, I think as I look out my window, fogged up with the opaque blackness of the night.

It never used to be this way. I used to be able to fall asleep within minutes, my breath slowing into a steady rhythm and my mind falling silent. Now, each breath I take in the darkness of my room pulls an imaginary string tighter and tighter around my heart. The string is merciless, imprisoning my mind in a state of consciousness that makes it harder to ignore the ever-present pit in my stomach. 

During the day, I’m fine. I can breathe, drink, laugh. The string is dormant. Of course it’s still there, I can feel it’s thin outline, but it is kept at bay by the constant movement of my hands and brain. I’ve made sure of that.

At night though, at night it is a wild thing. There is no reigning it in or controlling it. No amount of meditation or music makes its strength dwindle. It remains, massacring my heart and mind and body with its incessant tugging.

I close my eyes.

You forgot to lock the front door, what if there is a serial killer on the loose? Your room is closest to the entrance, you’ll be killed first.

Nellie seemed off at lunch today, what did you do wrong? Who is she going to tell?

If you do die in your sleep, where will you go? Where do you deserve to go?

There is always a possibility you’ll get in a car crash tomorrow.

Your curtains are open, a hooded figure is looking through your window-

My eyes snap open and I strain them to see anything but black in the darkness of my room. It’s useless. 

I grab my phone off my nightstand and turn on the flashlight, refusing to turn on the light in my room. It’s a gross, yellow tinted light that makes the string draw tighter. I keep my room lights off whenever possible. 

I bite my lip as goosebumps spread across my skin, making me shiver. I know there’s nobody out there. I know I’m being idiotic and irrational and that I should ignore my paranoid thoughts, yet the string pulls like a riptide until I am swept off my feet and forced to follow after.

I peer into the window with my phone flashlight clenched in my hand, the bright white ray revealing no hooded figure staring back at me. 

The string pulls on.

Please, I think, I just want to sleep.

The string gets tighter.

You have to be sure, it nags.

I let out a pathetic whimper.

This will never end, I think as I turn away from my empty window.

This will never end, I think as I slip off my bed.

This will never end, I think while I pad down my hallway.

This will never end, I think when I feel a tear slide down my cheek.

This will never end, I think as I reach for the doorknob.

This will never end, I think as the string cinches tighter, and tighter, and tighter-

Warm summer air makes its way through the now open doorway, its denseness making my lungs feel heavier than my body.

I take a tentative step outside onto my front porch, and the rough concrete feels nice underneath my feet. It’s warm just like the night air. 

I look up, yet see no stars. Remembering that light pollution obscures the night sky, I close my front door and slowly make my way to the empty street of my cul-de-sac. The sound of my footsteps on my driveway is the only sound I can hear.

The quiet of the outdoors is expected, yet alien. Inside, even at night, there is always the hum of the air conditioner or a creaking as the old house continues to settle into the foundation. Outside, however, it is devoid of any man-made noise.

I take a deep breath as I look up, finally able to see the stars. They twinkle faintly. Even with the distance put between myself and my house, the true beauty of the night sky is covered by surrounding light pollution. I sigh, but am able to point out Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper, the only two constellations I truly know. Despite the overall lack of visibility, I am content observing the stars that I can see, each its own color.

It takes me a few moments after locating the Big Dipper to realize that the string is gone. 

It can’t be gone, it’s never gone, it’s never gone, it’s never gone-

Immediately I summon the biggest breath I possibly can, yet there is no sharp, sudden feeling of anxiety stabbing me. I take another, disbelieving. Nothing. I take another, then another, then another. Not a single time does my heart feel clenched so tight that it might burst. Not a single time do I feel anything but sweet oxygen in my lungs.

Despite this epiphany, I stay silent. I do not laugh or smile, or feel a sudden joy explode inside of me. I look up again, but this time not at the stars. I look to the tops of my neighbor’s huge trees directly in front of me, and stare. 

It is impossible to make out any single leaf or branch in the darkness, making the trees look more like a bundle of darkness than the green, vibrant figures they are during the day. Together, they create a wall holding back the contents of the entire night, secrets woven into each indistinguishable line in the bark. 

I don’t know why, but I cry out to the trees, “Please take me away, to anywhere. I can’t stay here anymore. I’m afraid that if I go back in, I’ll die. Please,” I drop my voice to a whisper, “I just want to be okay.” 

The trees sway against the night sky, but do not utter a word back. The world remains silent, the trees uncaring and cold. 

My chest felt heavy, not with anxiety, but with disappointment. It’s not that I truly expected anything, yet I still wished. 

Nevertheless, I plead the same thing to the stars, who seemed a little kinder to me. They shine in their different hues of blue, green, and red, yet they also keep their distance from the girl, alone in the middle of the street with little more than her own desperate need for freedom to keep her company. 

Despite this lack of response, the breaths still come out easy. I had forgotten what it was like to breathe like this in the dark. 

Finally, I look over to the streetlamp at the end of my road, and see the warm orange light pool on the pavement. I walk over to it, and look down to see my shadow.

Part of me believed that it would start to move on its own, maybe communicate to me in some series of gestures that would tell me to run away, run away and never leave the safety of this warm summer night outside. It doesn’t. It’s fingers stretch and head shakes only as my own do, nothing more. It does not defy the laws of logic for my own satisfaction, just as the trees and stars refused to yield to my begging as well.

I want to feel upset, no matter how impossible my wish might’ve been, but I don’t. I felt just as isolated from myself as the stars are, millions of light years away. There are no bedroom walls to reflect my own feelings back to me, just an endless expanse of roads and nature and night. A numb realization spreads over me.

I am tired, and the string still isn’t there.

I glance at my shadow, then at the trees, the stars, and take a deep, deep breath. I know that I will be receiving no answers tonight.

I turn on my heel, then go inside.

The string remains absent even as the dense air in my lungs is replaced with the sharpness of the air conditioner air. It remains absent even as I lock the front door, make my way to my room, and crawl onto my bed and under the covers. 

I look out my dark window again. I am unable to see stars, trees, or shadows. I am alone in an empty, dark room, and somehow that is alright. Even as I close my eyes, and the ghost of the string makes itself welcome in my chest again, it is alright. I sleep, and I dream of things that I don’t remember. 

Summer nights are not the answer to the thoughts and feelings that plague me before bed, they do not always grant a moment of liberty or hope. 

But a summer night helped me once, despite the string’s strength, and maybe that’s enough.