Going to bed these past few nights has been a quotidian living nightmare. When the sun goes down and moon shines through the curtains, I’m like an owl. While everyone else is in their bed sleeping wonderfully, I envy the peace they have. The peace of how they’re able to go to just lay down and fall asleep quickly. Because I wish I can go to sleep, but my body — skin hasn’t been allowing me to. Instead, it tortures me with a frenetic pain. A pain that I wish I can fully describe to be understood, but no matter how many nouns I may use, it wouldn’t be enough. I am forced to stay awake to do everything I can and everything I am to push away the plethora of scratching my skin that has turned into egregious wounds. Making tea, reading a book, praying endlessly. I’d check the clock and it feels like every minute that passes by feel like hours. My mind hurts from the calamitous my own body is doing to me —- battling. The empty darkness that surrounds me has become like my friend and my thoughts are echoing in it.
As minutes turn into hours, and as hours passes by, I just hope to see the sun shinning diaphanous through. Because I know I made it out to through another night and looking at my bed sheets, the battle I fought. At that moment, I begin to feel soporific. That’s when I feel peace slowly filling in my lacuna soul, coming to a full once I drift away to a heaven I was wanting to be at during the night.