Insomnia

I met a boy a little over a month ago. He was very charming, very alluring, very mature. A girlfriend of mine, a mutual friend, introduced us, smiling and laughing at first, but when he got up to use the restroom one evening while the three of us were grabbing coffee, she admitted to me, exasperatingly, that she couldn’t take him anymore; couldn’t take their friendship. He was demanding and persistent and above all, a black hole; one that would suck the life force out of anyone he got close too, tiring them out and diminishing their spirit.

I laughed at her cautiousness and disregarded her warning for I had fallen for him instantly, like a burning meteorite falling into the earth’s atmosphere. His soft-spoken nature juxtaposed with his ravenous appetite for life as he introduced me to new and dangerous worlds I never knew existed. Every night he kidnapped me playfully from my bedroom and took me deep into the abyss of the night, surprising me with his knowledge of the earth and stealing my breath away underneath the vast velvet dark sky. With him, I could sit at the edge of the world and not feel alone, or wish on falling stars and not feel silly.

Quickly we became inseparable. He kept me company every day, but especially during the long, lonely nights when he felt I needed him the most. My friends would come to my house, sit around my bedroom and look upon with mild annoyance as he lay beside me atop the blanket, our fingers entwined, clasping hands almost in desperation; as if subconsciously scared that someone would force us apart. My mother disapproved, saying we rushed our relationship and that it seemed, almost eerily, that he was more than just dependent on me. I shook my head, telling her that this was love. Very soon, I saw less of them, of everyone, and much, much more of him.

He was there every moment of every day, whenever I needed him – and soon, even when I did not need him, when I did not want him. His offers to help me, to be there beside me began to irritate and annoy and his constant presence was a distraction to far more important aspects of my life – school, work, and even other relationships, relationships with my friends and my family; his jealousy was overbearing but he justified it as his intense love for me. The very sound of his voice or the mention of his name triggered claustrophobia inside of me, but when I finally summoned the courage to leave him, he would not let go. Like a leach, like a parasite, he had latched onto me, sucking away at my happiness and my freewill to fuel his ever growing jealousy until all that was left was my empty shell of a body; a misshapen ball of fatigue.

At last, I lashed out. Screaming, yelling, crying at him to leave but he was adamant. My fury morphed into a bitter resentfulness as I told him I did not want him in my life and that I was a fool for loving him. We battled for weeks on end, as all the while he continued to drain the energy out of me, even the anger, until I was left with nothing. I was left numb; a numbness that frightened me more than I had ever been frightened before. Pain is a terrible affliction, yes, but it is a sensation one feels to remind themselves that they are still alive, still breathing. Numbness is no sensation. No emotion. It is nothing, and that is far worse than any sort of pain one could ever feel.  

Finally, he left. After collecting not only my happiness, but also my grief, my desperation and my anger. I was no use to him anymore; he was through with me and was satisfied with leaving me with nothing, for that had been his goal all along. Still, I was relieved to see him leave.

My girlfriend, the one who introduced us, is happy to see that I have gotten rid of him. I haven’t told her though that, unfortunately, I do still see him from time to time. He follows me often, beckoning at my bedroom window several times a week, appearing when I least expect him too; he even slithers into my bed on some incredibly lonely, rough nights, wanting to hold hands and I feel the chill of his breath against my nape. I haven’t told my friends any of this, and they try not to talk about him much, as not to upset me. But there are moments, of course, when I hear his name whispered by hundreds of people who, just like me, have fallen prey to him around the globe; Insomnia, they call him.